


Christmas Fluff 2018

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Casskins Fluff, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Jenkins Fluff, Multi, Team Bonding, Team Fluff, Team as Family, so much freaking fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Series of ficlets and one-shots full of all kinds of Christmas-themed fluff for 2018.  Mostly Casskins fluff, but also some Jenkins fluff with other members of the team.  Merry Christmas!





	1. The Cherry Tree Carol

The young Librarian snuggled up to the Caretaker as they sat on the large velvet-upholstered sofa.  A single candle sat on a nearby sandalwood table and flickered romantically in its stand.  Before them was a large floor to ceiling window giving them a breathtaking view of the nighttime skyline of Portland, Oregon.  At this time of year, the landscape was also dotted with brightly-colored spots of Christmas lights, adding a festive touch to the view. 

Cassandra and Jenkins had come up here to their secret “love nest”, as Cassandra liked to call it, to relax and get away from the busy-ness of the Library and the general hustle and bustle of the holiday season.  Here it was quiet and tranquil, with only each other for company, and no worries about being interrupted or disturbed by anyone else until they were ready to leave and rejoin “the real world”. 

The two were mostly silent this evening, content to merely be in each other’s company.  Cassandra sipped from a glass of merlot as they took in the scenery, while her husband nursed a cup of green tea with peppermint.  With her head resting on his upper arm, the Librarian closed her eyes and sighed quietly with contentment.  She loved these stolen moments with Jenkins, loved the warmth of his body that seeped through their clothes to touch her skin, loved the smell of him—usually a combination of wool, cologne and his own individual musk.  She loved to listen to his quiet breathing, loved even more to listen the sound of his heart beating, steadily and slowly.  She always felt loved and safe and cherished whenever she was with Jenkins.

For his part, Jenkins also treasured these quiet moments with his young wife.  He could hardly believe that they had been Sealed and married for almost a year now, _still_ couldn’t believe that this beautiful, vivacious, intelligent woman had chosen _him_ out of all other potential mates in the world.  She had had her pick of anyone else, but she had fallen in love with him.  He knew that she loved him more than anything or anyone else, she made him feel wanted, gave his life new purpose and direction and meaning.  He no longer felt like some ill-begotten freak of Nature that had no right to be in this world; Cassandra made him feel as though he actually _belonged_ here now.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to be alive.

Jenkins took a deep breath and began to sing.  He used to sing a great deal when he was a young man, a young knight at Camelot.  It was part of his ancient Celtic heritage, the love of music.  He’d lost touch with that part of himself over the long centuries, not that he really had anything to sing about then.  But that was something else that Cassandra had changed.

She smiled as she listened to her husband’s smooth, warm baritone.  It always sent a wonderful thrill through her body to hear him sing.  Now he sang an ancient-sounding song in his native tongue, an extinct dialect of Welsh that had been the _lingua franca_ of Arthur’s kingdom.  The song had a sad sound to it, but she also heard a hint of joy in the melody, like the first light of dawn hiding just below the horizon of a particularly bleak and oppressive night.  She lost herself in the quicksilver notes so characteristic of Celtic music, and marveled at how easy Jenkins made them seem.  He had tried one time to teach her a simple children’s song from his own childhood, but her clumsy modern tongue tripped and stumbled over the birdsong-like tune.  They had both laughed like children that day, with not a care in the world.

Jenkins finished his song and fell silent.  He gently tightened his arm around his wife briefly in a quick hug, but said nothing.  She, too, was quiet for a few moments before she spoke softly.

“That was beautiful, sweetheart; what was it about?”  Jenkins smiled in the darkness.

“It’s an old Christmas carol from my younger days,” he replied, his voice so low and soft that it was almost a whisper.  “About another old man and _his_ lovely young wife.”

“Really?  Who?” she asked, turning her face to look up at him. 

“The song is about how the Blessed Virgin asks Saint Joseph to pick cherries for her from a tree while they rest on their flight into Egypt.  But he rather grumpily refuses, so the Holy Child causes the tree to bend its branches down to her so she can pick the fruit herself.”

“I hope you’re not comparing _me_ to the Virgin Mary!” she exclaimed in alarm.  Jenkins shook his head and chuckled.

 “No,” he answered.  “Nor am I comparing myself to good Saint Joseph, either, except in that it took both us a while before we realized just how truly fortunate we were to have such wonderful women come into our lives when they did.”

He said nothing more and cuddled her closer to himself.  Outside it had begun to snow while Jenkins was singing, making the distant lights of the city soft and glowing.  Cassandra blinked away the tears she felt prickling in her eyes as she snuggled herself against her husband’s body.

“Would you pick cherries for me if I asked you to?” she asked teasingly, seeking to lighten the mood a bit.  She felt Jenkins raise his head as he took in a deep breath.

“My dear, I would cut down the entire orchard if you so wished!” he immediately declared brashly, and Cassandra giggled.

“I love you, Galahad,” she whispered, closing her eyes again.

“And, I love you, too, my beautiful Cassandra.”


	2. The Mission

Eve Baird and Jenkins stepped unnoticed through the magic door and into a busy parking lot.  As they threaded their way quickly through the parked cars, Eve briskly restated yet again the goals she wanted to accomplish in this mission.  The tall blonde turned to say something particularly important to her companion, only to find that he was lagging far behind her.  In fact, the pale-faced man looked as though he was about to turn tail and bolt back through the door to the safety of the Annex.  The Guardian stopped and waited impatiently for him, her hands planted on her hips and dramatically tapping her booted foot.

“And just _what_ are you doing all the way back there, mister?” she demanded.  Jenkins had a nervous, sheepish look on his face.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have volunteered for this mission, after all, Colonel,” he answered uneasily.  “I don’t think I really possess the necessary skill sets for an endeavor like this...”  Baird set her jaw and strode quickly back to the balking immortal.  She took his head between her hands and stared him steadily in his nervous brown eyes.

“Don’t you _dare_ wimp out on me now, old man!” she said, her voice low and commanding.  “Jenkins, you have fought in and walked away from some of the most horrific battles in history.  You have fought with and _killed_ honest-to-God fire-breathing dragons.  You have withstood famines, plagues, droughts, torture. You have stood up to some of the most powerful and dangerous people in the world, both magical and non-magical.  You said yourself that you need to get out of the Annex more, and this is the _perfect_ opportunity.  We have _a lot_ of people depending on us to complete this mission, Jenkins, and to complete it _successfully_!”  Jenkins straightened to his full height and stiffened stubbornly.  He wasn’t buying it.

“Yes, I understand all of that, but, _really_ , Colonel, the more I think about this, the more I feel I’ve made a dreadful mistake.  Perhaps Cassandra would be better suited…” he began, but Eve cut him off.  So much for pep talks; time for Plan B.

“Oh, _no you_ _don’t_ , Jenkins!” she said, her voice determined as she scurried to stand directly behind the huge immortal.  She placed both of her gloved hands on his broad back and grunted loudly as she pushed him toward the doors with all of her strength.  “ _Get in there_ , you big chicken!”

Jenkins stumbled forward, protesting the entire way.  The doors slid smoothly open automatically, like the maw of some post-modern beast, and allowed Baird to push him inside.

The nervous Caretaker suddenly found himself in a cavernous room full of packed shelving that seemed to go on forever—rather like the Library, only not _nearly_ so inviting.  He froze, staring in dumbly around him, his senses assailed from all directions.  Through the stifling air inside the building came the strains recorded Christmas muzak, talking, arguing, crying, bells, machinery of some sort, laughter.  He smelled sweat, dust, perfume, cooking food, and some odors he couldn’t even begin to identify.  People rushed to and fro, pushing overloaded carts full of goods of all descriptions in front of them.  Small, furiously screaming children ran everywhere, apparently at will and with no obvious supervision.  It was chaos, noise and disorder everywhere, all of his senses were overwhelmed.  He began to feel dizzy, and a tightness in his chest suddenly made it difficult to breathe.  For a split-second, he was standing on a distant battlefield again, surrounded by dying men and screaming horses, the smell of fresh blood and churned mud filling his nose.

Eve saw the Caretaker’s eyes glaze over, and she instantly knew what was happening.  One large hand rise to cover her friend’s lips, a sure sign of his distress, and, his eyes wide and staring at the horrors of some long-past battle, he began backing slowly towards the door.  Eve cursed herself for her stupidity; he _had_ volunteered to come with her today, but was she right to make him stay now?  She stepped next to him and slid her arm around his shoulders, gave him a quick reassuring hug.  She should’ve realized that after isolating himself from the rest of humanity for so long, he was bound to be overly stressed by the hordes of shoppers during the Christmas season.  Perhaps this mission hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

She shook her head.  Jenkins could do it, she had confidence in him.

“Don’t worry, Jenkins, I’m here, I’ll have your six the entire time.  You can do this, I _know_ you can,” she said, her voice low as she tried to encourage the naturally reclusive immortal.  At the sound of her voice, Jenkins turned, seemed almost startled to see her there.  He looked around again, but this time saw only a busy store packed with harried shoppers.  He looked back at Eve and saw in her clear blue eyes that she was telling the truth—he would be safe with her.  He would _always_ be safe with Eve.  Jenkins raised his head and took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Thank you, Colonel,” he replied shakily, taking her hand in his and giving it a tight squeeze, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  “You’re right, I _can_ do this.”

“You sure?” Baird asked, concerned.  “We can go back if you really want to, it’s not…”

“No, Colonel, I’m staying,” he interrupted flatly.  His eyes hardened and he raised his head with resolve.  “I promised you that I would help you with this mission, and I am determined to fulfill that pledge.”  Eve grinned in response and looped her arm around his.

“Good man, Jenkins,” she said softly, genuinely proud of him.  “Now, let’s go get that stuff for the Christmas party!”


	3. Christmas Music

Cassandra set the Bluetooth speaker on the end of the long worktable in the middle of the Annex’s main workroom and turned it on.  She then deftly touched a few buttons on her smartphone to connect it to the speaker and select the playlist she wanted to hear.  A few seconds later, the large room was filled with the classic, lively hip-hop strains of TLC’s “Sleigh Ride”.  She smiled and giggled and clapped her hands with delight and holiday excitement, then spun around eagerly to the several large cardboard boxes full of Christmas lights and decorations.  She was just in time to catch Franklin curiously easing his long green head slowly into one of the open boxes.

“Hey!” she called loudly as she rushed over to the box.  At the sound of her voice, Franklin nonchalantly withdrew his head and sat back on his haunches as he looked up at his adopted mother with large, black eyes full of innocence, as if he had had absolutely no intention at all of pulling out the box’s contents and scattering them all over the entirety of the Library.

“Don’t you play innocent with me, young man!” she scolded lightheartedly.  “I know you better than that!”  She patted his rump to encourage him to move along.  The little dragon huffed in irritation at having his fun spoiled and ran off toward the staircase, claws clattering on the hardwood, and Cassandra began removing large bundles of garland made of shiny gold and silver tinsel.  As she worked, she began moving, at first just bobbing her head and swaying gently to the beat of the music, but her movements quickly became gradually broader and more pronounced until she was full-on dancing around the room.  Franklin, who was watching from half-way up the spiral staircase, ran back down the polished wooden steps to join the Librarian.  He understood music (even though this Western music sounded very strange to his dragon ears), and understood that Cassandra’s seemingly inexplicable, frenetic movements were in response to it—and _he_ wanted to be a part of it.  The tea dragon ran to her and began prancing, leaping and hopping around the young woman while he squealed and yipped in sheer enjoyment. 

Jenkins, carrying yet another box of decorations from the Annex’s storage closet for Cassandra, rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his wife and the small dragon cavorting wildly around the room, the infectious, rhythmic music blaring. 

“Cassandra?” he called out to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the music.  She spied him as she spun around, though, and began laughing when she saw his bewildered expression.

“Jenkins!” she shouted, waving him over.  His brow furrowed as he set the box down on a chair and lumbered over to where she was still dancing.  He dearly loved his wife and wouldn’t dream of denying her anything so pure and innocent as celebrating Christmas, but her infatuation with the holiday’s more garish, colorful, _noisy_ trappings could be quite stressful at times.  As soon as he was close enough, she did a neat pirouette and grabbed both of his hands in hers.

“Come dance with me and Franklin!” she yelled, and he immediately stiffened.  He pulled his hands away and held them up, shaking his head and frowning.

“I don’t think so!” he said loudly, barely audible over the music.  But Cassandra wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.  She grabbed his hands again and held onto them tightly.

“Come on, sweetie— _please_?” she pleaded, giving him her best “puppy-dog eyes” look, and his heart melted.  He smiled nervously, but the old immortal began to move to the beat of the music with her, swaying moderately from side to side, his eyes darting all around the room to make sure no one else was about who could witness this undignified frivolity.

“That’s it!  You got it!” Cassandra shouted encouragement with delight.  Franklin screeched his approval as well.  It had taken a lot of work on her part over the last few years to loosen up her very proper and straitlaced spouse, but she was finally seeing some payoff.  A year ago he would _never_ have joined in with her in such foolishness.

The longer they danced, the looser Jenkins’s movements became, though they were still far clumsier than hers.  His slow, awkward dance moves reminded the Librarian of a whooping crane doing a mating dance and she laughed, but he knew that she was laughing _with_ him rather than _at_ him.  Jenkins then caught a glance of himself in the glass of the tall magic mirror, and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself.  He looked utterly ridiculous with his long, gangly arms and legs waving around and out from his body, but it was all right.  It made his young wife happy, and Franklin was going absolutely berserk with excitement.  And it made _him_ feel good, too, truth be told, just being with the two he loved most in the world, being silly and having some fun.  He grinned widely and laughed with Cassandra as he continued to dance with her.

The oblivious couple and the tea dragon were so caught up in their laughter, shrieking and dancing that none of them noticed the Back Door when it activated and swung open.  Jenkins swept his wife up into his long arms and dipped her so far backward that her head almost touched the floor, causing her to scream with laughter and surprise.   Franklin hopped madly around them, screeching and hooting joyously along with the redhead.  As Jenkins pulled Cassandra upright again, he froze suddenly, his face blanching as his jaw fell open.  Cassandra saw his horrified expression and immediately became concerned.

“Jenkins?” she asked.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  She turned her head to follow his shocked gaze, and burst into renewed gales of laughter.  Eve Baird, Jacob Stone and Ezekiel Jones, newly returned from a shopping junket to Rome, stood in a row facing the couple, all three of them not even trying to hide their amusement.  Jones had his cell phone up, taking video.

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” the Aussie drawled as the song faded to its end.  “This is _so_ going on YouTube!”  The Caretaker’s eyes few wide in absolute mortification.

“You wouldn’t _dare_!” he gasped, trying to sound outraged but managing only to sound panic-stricken.  A lopsided grin twisted Ezekiel’s youthful features as he turned his phone around and held it up for Jenkins and Cassandra to see.

“Not only ‘would’, mate—did!  Can’t deny the world the opportunity of seeing ‘Dance, Dance, Galahad!’ now can we?”  The immortal’s broad shoulders slumped as he watched himself cavorting on the small screen, and one hand flew up to cover the embarrassed man’s mouth.  He stared at the phone for a several seconds, then glanced up at Jones.  Without a word Jenkins turned on his heel and fled the workroom.  Cassandra called out to him futilely, then turned to give a hurt look to Jones.

“Ezekiel, how could you do that?” she demanded, dismayed.  “You know how reserved he is!  How could you humiliate him like that?”  The thief merely snorted.

“No worries, Cassandra,” he assured her lackadaisically.  “I didn’t _really_ post it to YouTube, I was just having a lark on him, that’s all—see?”  He moved to stand next to the redhead and showed her his phone screen.  He demonstrated to her that he had not only _not_ posted the video to the internet, he had actually deleted it completely from his phone.

“I’d never do that to the old knocker, you know that!” he said patronizingly.  Cassandra made a show of planting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes in exasperation, but in reality she was greatly relieved.  She glared balefully at the unrepentant thief.

“Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again, Ezekiel Jones, or so help me...!” she scolded.  The young man only laughed in her face as he slid his phone into his jeans pocket, pleased with the chaos he’d created.

“Ya know, I wouldn’t laugh if I was you,” chimed in Jacob, giving a quick wink at Cassandra behind the Aussie’s back.  Jones turned to face him.

“And why is that?” he challenged.  Jacob shrugged his shoulders and distractedly rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“’Cause the guy you’ve been ‘havin’ a lark on’, hmm?  He’s the same dude who fought Asmodeus—a _Prince of_ _Hell_.  With a _toy light saber_?  And _kicked_ his ass?”  A look of realization came over Jones’s face.  He looked over at Cassandra.

“Yeppers,” she confirmed slowly, rocking on her feet as she followed Jake’s lead.  “Once the shock wears off, I can pretty much guarantee you that Jenkins is gonna be more than _just a little_ ticked off.”  The Librarian then reached out and lightly punched Jones in the shoulder.

“Oh, heck!” she said cheerfully, a grin on her face.  “Who am I kidding?  Once the shock wears off, he’s gonna be _super_ -pissed at you, Ezekiel!  He’s probably trying to decide right now which of the gazillion swords he owns will cause you the most possible pain...”

“Aw, get off!” Jones scoffed, his confidence evaporating as he looked back and forth between the two Librarians.  “He’s our Caretaker, he works _for_ _us_ , we’re his bosses!  Jenkins would never hurt me!  Would he?  I mean, he _couldn’t_ hurt me!  It would be impossible!”

“I bet Asmodeus thought the same thing,” muttered Jake to no one in particular. 

Jones, now more than a little nervous, again looked back and forth between Jacob and Cassandra.  They remained silent, however; Cassandra had a pitying look on her face.  The thief turned and ran out of the room, his feet pounding down the same corridor Jenkins had disappeared into a few minutes earlier.

“JENKINS!” he hollered as he ran.  “Jenkins!  I’m sorry, mate, it was just a little joke!  I didn’t really post anything to YouTube!  No harm done, hey, mate?  _JENKINS_!” 

Jacob chortled and Cassandra grinned and snickered as they high-fived each other.  Stone then gathered up the shopping bags and carried them over to the worktable—after pulling Franklin out of one of the larger ones and sending him scampering across the floor with a slap on the rump and a loud “Scat on outta here, ya overgrown caterpillar!”, while Cassandra went back to unpacking the boxes of decorations, dancing and singing along with her playlist the entire time.


	4. The Christmas Apron

Humming quietly to herself, Cassandra tied the brightly-colored, Christmas-themed apron around her waist and began to measure and sift flour and baking powder into a large mixing bowl with focused determination.  She had to work fairly quickly if she expected to get a batch of Christmas cookies made before Jenkins discovered what she was up to.  For a man well over a thousand years old, he was like a small boy whenever she made cookies—constantly hovering and asking questions, sticking his finger into things to taste them, begging to lick the mixing spoon or the bowl, lurking near the oven ready to pounce as soon as a tray of cookies came out.  She loved her husband dearly, but sometimes she just wanted to do some baking without having to keep one eye on her husband and his unchecked sweet-tooth.  Today she had asked Eve to distract him for a couple of hours with some hand-to-hand combat training so that Cassandra could have the kitchen all to herself.

The young Librarian creamed together the sugar, butter and eggs, added some vanilla.  She combined the dry and wet ingredients and expertly mixed them together into a soft, sweet dough.  She pinched off chunks and rolled the dough into small balls, rolled those in a mixture of sugar and cinnamon to coat them evenly, then lined them in neat rows onto a baking sheet.  She had just slid the first sheet into the oven when the kitchen door opened behind her.  Cassandra whirled around guiltily and stared in wide-eyed surprise; sure enough, it was Jenkins, disheveled and perspiring slightly from his workout.

“Cassandra?” he asked curiously.  “What are you doing in here?  I thought you were going to research...”  He stopped as his eyes swept the countertop, littered with the flour and sugar canisters, empty eggshells and various measuring utensils.  He then noticed the frilly apron and the way Cassandra stood protectively between him and the oven.  The faintest perfume of baking sugar wafted across the room to him.

“You’re _baking_!” he accused, and hurried across the kitchen toward the oven.  Cassandra held out her hands in a gesture of pleading.

“Jenkins!  Sweetheart!  Don’t...!” she began to protest, but he ignored her.  He reached a long arm around her, cracked open the oven door and peeked past her inside.  His brown eyes widened with eager anticipation.

“Snickerdoodles!” he all but whooped with glee as the oven door closed with a thunking sound.  “My absolute _favorite_!”  He stood upright again a looked down at his wife’s defeated face.

“My dear, what’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled.  “Why’re you looking at me like that?”  Cassandra’s shoulders slumped slightly as she smiled wanly up at him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she lied.  “Just a little tired, I guess.  The research wasn’t going anywhere, so I thought I’d take a break and do a little baking.  It helps me to relax sometimes, clears my head.”  Jenkins smiled back at her as he placed her face between his hands.  He bent and kissed her forehead with a resounding smack.

“You will receive nothing but coal in your stocking this Christmas, my dear, if you keep telling lies like _that_ ,” he rumbled.  The Librarian’s blue eyes blinked.

“I’m not lying!” she blurted, but Jenkins only chuckled.

“There used to be an old saying,” he countered.  “’Don’t try to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs’.  I’ve been around long enough to know when someone is trying to distract me from something!”  Cassandra sighed in surrender.  _Eve is right_ , she thought.  _He IS a sly old fox!_

“Okay, you got me, I’m busted,” she said.  “I just wanted to bake some cookies for Christmas, that’s all.”

“You just wanted to bake some cookies for Christmas— _without_ your greedy, cookie monster of a husband underfoot, you mean.”  She dropped her eyes briefly, then flicked them back to meet his.

“No, no!  Nothing like that, sweetheart!  I...” she began, but he cut her off.

“It’s all right, my dear, I understand,” he reassured her.  “I know that I can be a bit childish when you’re cooking or baking.  I didn’t realize that it bothered you so much, though, that you would go to _these_ lengths!  I only wish you had said something earlier.”  He kissed her forehead again.

“I’m just going to make myself a cup of tea, and then I’ll leave the kitchen to you.  I promise!”  He turned away and went to fetch a cup and saucer from the china cupboard.  Cassandra suddenly felt like the worst wife in the world.

“Would you make me a cup, too?” she asked.  He turned around and smiled.

“Of course,” he answered.

“And would you stay here and drink it with me?” she rushed to add.  Jenkins gave her a knowing look.

“Thank you, my dear, but that’s not necessary,” he said.

“No, please—stay,” she said sincerely.  “You’re not childish, Jenkins, just…child- _like_.”  A thought suddenly occurred to her.

“I guess your mom didn’t bake alot of cookies for you when you were a kid, huh?” she asked, trying to make her tone sound light.  An odd, pained look briefly passed over the immortal’s face and then was gone.  He renewed his smile.

“No, she didn’t,” he murmured, then busied himself with making their tea.  Cassandra rolled her eyes at herself.  Of course his mother didn’t bake cookies for him; from what little the Librarian had learned about his family background, Galahad’s mother wasn’t exactly the cookie-baking type to begin with, even if there _had_ been such a thing as cookies in the Dark Ages.  In fact, she had barely tolerated her illegitimate son when he was a child.  _Way to go, Cassandra!_

She reached behind her back and jerked the bow out of the apron’s strings, then yanked the gaudy garment over her head.  She smiled for a moment as she remembered the time Ezekiel had worn the apron, carrying a tray of hot chocolate for everyone when he was under the spell of Santa’s talisman hat. 

“Where on earth did you find this apron?” she asked, hoping to switch to a less awkward topic of conversation.  To her surprise, she realized that she’d only made things worse, judging from the look of surprise on Jenkins’s face at her question.  Her husband stared at the apron for several seconds, as though debating with himself, his cheeks turning pink.  Then, with a quiet sigh, he resumed preparing the tea things.

“Gretchen left it here,” he said bluntly.  “Mrs. Claus.”  Cassandra’s eyes popped open wide.

“She did?” squeaked the Librarian.  “But...how?  Why?  I mean, you don’t normally just _leave_ an apron somewhere, most people don’t travel around with an apron in their pocket...”  She stopped speaking as she realized that she had perhaps stumbled across something she shouldn’t have.  She gaped at her husband as she tried to think of a graceful way to back out of the mess she’d stepped in.

“I…I’m sorry, Jenkins, that’s none of my business,” she said quickly and began gathering up the dirty baking utensils.  He went over to her and took her hand, then gently led her to the kitchen’s table, indicated for her to sit.

“You’re my wife now, Cassandra, so it _is_ your business,” he began.  “I should have told you about Gretchen a long time ago.”  A sick feeling filled Cassandra’s stomach.

“You mean...you and her were...” she said timorously, suddenly near tears and not really wanting to hear the answer.  Puzzled by her reaction, the immortal looked intently at her for a moment, then, startled as he realized what she was thinking, hurried to explain.

“Oh, no, Cassandra, _no_!” he said urgently as he took her hand again and held onto it tightly.  “We were _friends_ , my dear, that’s all!  Nothing more, I swear!”  He saw her eyes fill with hope and relief then, but they were still cautious.

“You know that Santa is gone most of the year, moving around the world, gathering good will,” he said.  “Gretchen...well, it’s hard on Gretchen.  She came from a very large, garrulous family, and she’s not used to spending so much time by herself, so she was lonely.  She used to come to the Library on occasion, just to visit, sometimes she would cook dinner for us, just to have some company.  She and I became good friends.”  A peculiar look filled his eyes, sadness mixed with something like regret.

“We both realized, though, that we were in danger of becoming... _more_ than just friends,” Jenkins continued quietly, dropping his gaze.  “The last time she was here was on a Christmas Eve; that’s when she left that apron here.”  Jenkins paused for a moment. 

“Gretchen truly loves her husband, Cassandra, and I am not the sort of man who would ever seek to disrupt someone’s happy home.  Besides that, there was my own vow to Charlene to uphold.”  He squeezed Cassandra’s hand again and looked up, a sad smile on his face.

“We decided that it be best for everyone involved if she and I became ‘long-distance friends’ only, so to speak.  I’ve not actually laid eyes on Gretchen in over a hundred years.”  Jenkins shifted uneasily in his chair.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about this sooner, Cassandra, but please believe me when I tell you that I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.  I didn’t say anything because...well...it just didn’t seem relevant anymore.  You’re _my_ true love...always.”  He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed her knuckles.  With wide, penitent eyes he looked up at her again.

“Forgive me?” he asked, and Cassandra smiled at him, her chest literally aching with her love for him.

“Of course I do,” she said, and her heart skipped a beat at the smile that lit up his face.  “I should be apologizing to you, I shouldn’t have forced you to tell about something so personal.”  Jenkins shook his head before she had finished speaking.

“Nonsense, my dear…” he started to say, but she place a finger over his lips.

“In fact, to show you _how_ much I forgive you—”  Cassandra jumped up from her chair and hurried over to the baking utensils waiting patiently to be washed.  She grabbed the mixing bowl and the large wooden spoon she had used to mix the dough and took them back to the table.  She held them out to the Caretaker.

“Here—there’s still a little bit of cookie dough left in the bowl!” she said.  Jenkins practically snatched the implements from her hands in his eagerness.  He looked inside the bowl and did a double-take:  There was enough dough left in the bowl for at least two or three more cookies.  He looked up, confused, and Cassandra chortled.

“I was saving it for you,” she confessed with a grin.  “I know how much you like to lick the bowl.”  The timer on the oven went off, informing them that the cookies were finished.  Cassandra ran to the oven, slipped her hand into an oven mitt and then pulled the hot tray of cookies out.  She slid the second tray in and set the timer again as she closed the oven door.  The kitchen quickly filled with the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked sugar cookies and cinnamon.  Jenkins greedily eyed the fresh-baked treats even as he scraped the mixing bowl clean, gobbling down the left-over dough.  Cassandra gingerly stacked three of the piping-hot cookies into her mitted palm and carried them over to the table.

“Do me a favor, sweetie—taste these and tell me what you think?” she said, holding the cookies out to him.  “Careful, now, they’re hot!”  Setting the bowl and spoon aside, the immortal picked up a cookie and tossed it a few times between his hands until it was cool enough to eat.  The whole cookie disappeared into his mouth and he leaned back in his chair as he chewed, eyes closed, little grunts of happiness sounding in his throat.  The Librarian laughed.

“You sound just like Franklin when _he_ gets a treat!” she snickered and held out the remaining cookies in her hand.  “Would you like another one?”  Swallowing the last of the cookie, Jenkins opened his eyes and leaned forward to take her empty hand and kissed it.

“You are the best Tree-wife _ever_!” he declared.  His other hand was slowly reaching over to take another cookie at the same time.  Cassandra picked up a cookie before he could reach it, then leaned over to give a quick kiss to his crumb-sprinkled lips.

“And _you’re_ the best Tree-husband ever!” she said, then popped the cookie into his mouth before he could say another word.


	5. First Snow

The tall, nattily-dressed man unlocked the front entrance of the Annex and pulled the heavy steel door inward on faintly squeaking hinges.  A blast of cold, humid air struck his face and he breathed it in deeply, the fresh air energizing him as it drove away the last of his morning lethargy.  He stepped outside and took in the blue-white landscape that now surrounded the Annex:  A crisp, flawless blanket of snow, the first snow of the winter season.  Large, fat flakes still drifted slowly down from the pale gray, early morning sky.

The day had not gotten off to a very good start.  He and Cassandra had had a rather heated disagreement about Franklin, Jenkins’s tea dragon.  When Franklin saw the snow falling last night through an Annex window, he had reacted with such excited screeching and leaping about that Jenkins feared the little dragon was going to hurt himself.  The Caretaker had decided then and there to take Franklin outside early the next morning, before the neighborhood began to stir, and let the little animal experience snow for probably the first time in his life firsthand.  It rarely snowed in Yunnan, and Jenkins was certain that the tea dragon would love to be given the opportunity to see and feel snow up close. 

Cassandra had disagreed, strenuously.  She reminded him of the last time Franklin had gotten out of the Annex, begged him to at least put a leash of some kind on Franklin so that he wouldn’t be tempted to run off again, or be frightened into running away by a stray dog or something.  Jenkins stubbornly refused.  He disliked leashes on wild animals, he argued.  And besides, he had been working with Franklin ever since his last “adventure”, and felt quite confident that Franklin would come when called now.  His wife had rolled her eyes and accused him of spoiling Franklin, and told him that some day it would all come back to “bite him in the ass”, as she rather crudely put it.  Jenkins had snorted in response as he scooped Franklin up from the floor and headed for the front entrance.

Now, a large lump underneath his heavy outer coat began to move, and the sound of muffled grunts and whines could be heard clearly in the still air.  Jenkins undid the top snap of his coat, and a long green head with large black eyes popped out straightaway.  Though Franklin had heard stories from his elders in China about snow, he had never seen it for himself before, and now he gaped in amazement at the ground covered in white.  He felt the cold air and shivered slightly, then became utterly fascinated by the vapor cloud produced by his breath that hung in the air around his head.  It was _never_ this cold in Yunnan!  The curious beast simply couldn’t resist exploring this new landscape and the white stuff that now replaced the thick green grass that had been here only a few weeks ago.

Before Jenkins could stop him, Franklin scrambled madly out of his coat and leaped onto the ground.  The moment his feet touched the snow, however, the little tea dragon squawked in surprise and leaped straight up into the air.  The ground was so _cold_ now!  He jumped around several more times as his feet kept coming into contact with the soft, icy substance, screeching in alarm the entire time as he tried to understand what was happening.  Jenkins chuckled as he watched the reptile’s reaction, then stooped to pick Franklin up. 

“Perhaps Cassandra was right, and I shouldn’t have brought you out here, my little one,” he muttered.  “You _are_ cold-blooded, after all.  At least I _think_ you are…”  He turned to carry Franklin back inside, but the dragon wasn’t going to have it.  He’d just gotten here, after all!  He squirmed out of Jenkins’s grasp and leaped back onto the snowy ground.

Franklin—who was actually warm-blooded, as all Eastern dragons are—adjusted quickly, and once he realized that this cold white stuff could be tunneled and burrowed into, there was no stopping him.  Just as Jenkins was about to wrap his hands around the long, thin body, Franklin dived into the thick layer of snow and disappeared as he tunneled away like a cartoon rabbit, throwing snow out behind him with his back legs and striking Jenkins squarely in the face with it.

Spluttering, the immortal stood upright and wiped the melting snow out of his eyes.  Looking frantically around, he spotted a rapidly lengthening ridge of snow like mole trail traveling away from him at great speed.  A few yards away the ridge suddenly stopped, and Franklin’s head burst from the snow.  He squealed with delight when he spotted Jenkins.

“Franklin!  Come back here this _instant_!” Jenkins shouted and began running toward the impish dragon.  The last thing the Caretaker needed now was for Franklin to get away from him and get lost again, thus proving Cassandra right!  As soon as he got close, however, Franklin howled happily as he dived beneath the snow’s surface again and tunneled effortlessly away in a different direction, only to pop his head above ground again a short distance away.  He jumped out of his snow-tunnel and began to roll around in the snowpack, his long tail thrashing as he shrieked with glee. 

Again, Jenkins ran over to catch the writhing beast, but as soon as he got too close, Franklin dived back into the snow and burrowed away again.  Jenkins called agitatedly, but Franklin ignored him—he was having _far_ too much fun now and he wasn’t ready for it to end yet.  Regret and mounting panic filled the Caretaker as he tried again and again unsuccessfully to catch Franklin or convince him to come on command.  He was just no match for the small, agile creature, and it went on for almost half an hour, the old immortal coming no closer to catching the dragon than he was at the outset.

“ _Dammit_ , Franklin!” Jenkins swore breathlessly.  He stopped running and bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he gulped in lungfuls of icy air.  “I’m too old for this nonsense!”  Franklin poked his head out of the snow just a couple of feet away.  He stared at the gasping man for a moment, then threw his snout up into the air and hooted.  He climbed out of the burrow and began to slide on his belly along the surface of the ground like an otter, his scaly underside perfectly suited for snow “sledding”.  Jenkins narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t move.  Franklin continued to yip and hoot raucously, pleased with himself as he continued to slide. 

Eventually Franklin lazily slid close to the man, and Jenkins lunged, surprisingly quickly for a man his size and advanced age.  The dragon squawked loudly in surprise and dove beneath the surface of the snow, narrowly escaping the large hand that grabbed for his long, serpentine tail.  Jenkins lost his balance and fell face-first into the snow.

The immortal pushed himself up and rolled over into a sitting position on the cold ground, spitting ice out of his mouth and scrubbing the snow out of his eyes and hair.  From the direction of the Annex’s entrance he heard laughter, and looking over his shoulder he saw Cassandra standing outside the door, her mittened hands failing to stifle her giggles.  A sour look came to his face as he turned away from her.

“Well, I’m _sooo_ very pleased that _you_ think this is funny,” he groused loudly.  The Librarian skipped lightly through the snow to her husband’s side and then dropped to her knees.  She threw her arms around him and kissed his cold cheek.

“Don’t get snippy with me!” she chided him lightly.  “I warned you about bringing him outside without a leash!”  Jenkins heaved a resigned sigh.

“You’re right,” he conceded, throwing his hands into the air.  “You were right, I was wrong; I should’ve listened to you.  I don’t know how I’m going to be able to catch that little ragamuffin in this snow, he’s like a fish in water!”  Cassandra smiled, her eyes full of sympathy, and she patted his broad back.

“Aw, but you’ve forgotten all about your secret weapon!” she said cheerily and started to dig into her coat pocket. 

“And what secret weapon would _that_ be, my dear?” he asked dourly.  At that moment Cassandra finally freed a small plastic bag of dog treats.  She held them up like a prize, a huge grin on her face, but Jenkins only looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“Watch!” she instructed.  The Librarian held the bag out in front of her, and then began to shake it vigorously, causing the plastic to crinkle and the treats inside to rattle loudly in the cold air. 

Instantly Franklin’s head emerged from the snow several yards off.  He turned to find the source of the familiar sound—a sound that meant ‘tasty food’—and saw Cassandra with the bag of treats.  The dragon scrambled out of his tunnel and plowed through the snow toward her, screaming all the way.  The moment he was close enough, he leaped at the young woman, snapping at the treats as he landed on her chest and knocked her backwards into the snow, the Librarian shrieking as the icy slush touched the bare skin of her neck and face.  Jenkins immediately grabbed hold of the squirming animal and held him tightly against his chest as he clambered clumsily to his feet.  He held out one hand to help Cassandra up, then quickly stuffed the wiggling, screeching dragon back beneath his overcoat as he looked around to make sure no one from the neighborhood had seen them.  He sucked in a shocked breath as the cold, wet, scaly body began snuggling up against his warm, dry chest. 

Cassandra opened the bag and removed a treat.  She called Franklin’s name, and as soon as he poked his head out of Jenkins’s coat, she gave it to him.  The little dragon snatched the treat from her fingers and gobbled it down greedily.  After licking Jenkins’s face one more time, he then burrowed back into the heavy wool overcoat.  The immortal gritted his teeth and winced as the sharp, tiny claws bit through his shirt and into his skin.

“I’m glad I wore an older suit today,” he muttered to himself as he and his young wife turned to go back into the Annex.  Cassandra looped her arm through his and bounced along next to him, trying to cheer him up by telling him all about the breakfast she had waiting for him inside.

“And as an apology for bickering with you this morning, I made your favorite—waffles!” she announced brightly.  Jenkins’s sour mood instantly cleared.

“Waffles?” he repeated, trying not to sound too eager.  “ _Belgian_ waffles?”  The Librarian nodded her head.

“Yep!  Nice, big, fat, fluffy, warm Belgian waffles!” she said.  “With lots and lots of homemade whipped cream and strawberry jam and crushed pecans to put on top!”  A beatific smile of anticipation lit up her husband’s face.  As the pair passed through the entrance and into the Annex, he pulled open the top of his overcoat to speak to the tea dragon snuggled inside.

“Did you hear that, Franklin?” he asked, low voice tinged with excitement.  “ _Waffles_!”


	6. Merry Christmas, Jenkins

The old Caretaker carefully carried his tea over to his desk.  As he set it down on top of a pile of leather-bound books of Balkan mythology, he was surprised to see a small, gaily-wrapped Christmas gift no larger than the palm of his hand sitting on the desk’s blotter.  He moved to stand behind his desk and picked up the tiny box.  The tag read “ _To J, Merry X-mas, E_ ”.  Jenkins quickly pulled a magnifying glass out of his desk to look at the tag again.  It did, indeed, say that it was from Ezekiel Jones, and he recognized the young man’s careless scrawl.  The immortal laid the heavy magnifying glass on the desk, puzzled.  It wasn’t Christmas yet, why was he giving Jenkins a gift _now_? 

_No doubt another of his ill-conceived pranks of some sort_ , he decided, shaking his white head.  _That_ would be typical of the thief.  _Might as well get this over with_ , he thought with a sigh, quickly scanning the area, expecting to see Mr. Jones hiding somewhere and just waiting for the staid old man to fall into his “trap”.  But the Annex was empty now, except for its Caretaker and his tea dragon dozing nearby.

Jenkins untied the ribbon and then carefully removed the bright Christmassy paper wrapping the little box.  It was made of nondescript white cardboard, about the size of a jeweler’s ring-box.  He lifted the lid, and his heart stopped the moment his eyes landed on its contents.  Shocked, he dropped numbly into his chair, and for several minutes he simply stared at the gift in disbelief.

 

* * *

 

He found Ezekiel in the Reading Room, sprawled out on a sofa and playing a video game on his phone.  The immortal strode directly over to Ezekiel and held out the box.

“Mr. Jones,” he said, voice clipped and business-like.  “I found this on my desk.  I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I cannot accept it.”  Ezekiel didn’t even look away from his phone’s screen.

“Sure you can, mate,” he said, distracted by the action on the screen.  “You said it was yours, didn’t you?  Lost it on the battlefield at Hastings, right? In 1066?”  Jenkins’s arm and jaw dropped in astonishment.  He was unable to speak for several seconds as he struggled to recover his composure.

“How do you know that?” he demanded, his voice now harsh and rasping.  Jones shrugged.

“I heard you telling Cassandra about it at the British Museum while I was trying to crack the lock on the cabinet that housed the Babylonian tablet we were looking for,” he answered.  “I heard you over the wire I was wearing, while you two were upstairs keeping a lookout.  When I popped the cabinet and got the tablet, I found you both at that “Celtic Britain” display, remember?”

Jenkins paused for a moment as he struggled to keep his voice emotionless and tried to hide behind a façade of righteous indignation.

“Yes, well…I can hardly still claim ownership of something I lost 900 years ago,” he continued stiffly.  “Besides, I’m certain that the British Museum will miss it eventually.  And they do not take kindly to having items removed from their collection, regardless of the motive behind it.  You have to take it and put it back.”  He raised his arm once again and held out the box to the young Australian.  Jones only snorted, his eyes still fixed on his phone.

“You really think they’re gonna miss one _tiny_ little artifact that’s been buried in storage for over a hundred years?” he asked.  “Not bloody likely.  They probably forgot they even had it!”  He cursed as something went wrong for him in the game he was playing.

“When I saw what you were talking to Cassandra about, I took a snap of it,” he continued glibly with a shrug.  “I made sure they’d never miss it, just in case.  Have a mate—he’s a jeweler, you know, does _really_ top-notch work—he owed me a favor.  He made an exact duplicate, then I slipped it back into the museum a few weeks later and made the switch.  Took me all of ten minutes.  Museum’ll never know the difference.”  Jenkins stared down at the thief.

“You did _what_?” he exclaimed, the full nature of what Jones had done staggering and bewildering the immortal.  “But...why?  _Why_ would you do this?”  Jones shut down the game and dropped his phone on the sofa cushion as he suddenly sat upright.  He plucked the box from the Caretaker’s hand and opened it, lifted out the silver chain that was inside.  Dangling from the chain was a pendant in the stylized shape of a horse, about an inch and a quarter long, also made of solid silver over a thousand years ago in ancient Britain. 

“I did it because _this_ belonged to Sister Sioned, the nun who raised you—the woman who was more a mother to you than anyone else in the world, including your _real_ mum.”  Jenkins gaped at Ezekiel, speechless.  The thief held the pendant higher and continued.

“Sioned used to call you _bran bach_ , ‘little raven’, that was her pet name for you.  She took care of you, nurtured you, protected you from the abbess who was cruel to you.  She sent Sioned away because the abbess thought the two of you were becoming too attached to each other.  The night she was sent away, Sioned sneaked into your bedroom while you were asleep and left this in your hand for you to find, to remember her by.  You didn’t see her again for years, not until you found each other on a battlefield.  She saved you from your father, but he ended up killing her instead.  She died in your arms.  You were only fifteen years old when that happened.  Horses were the totem animal of her tribe.  You wore it always to remind you of her.  To remind you that there had been at least _one_ person in your life who _had_ truly loved you.”  Ezekiel’s dark eyes burned into Jenkins as he went on relentlessly.

“You lost this at the Battle of Hastings; someone grabbed you and the chain broke, and somehow it fell out of your clothes.  You spent days afterward combing the battlefield trying to find it, but you couldn’t.  And it broke your heart.”  Ezekiel fell silent, looked Jenkins blandly in the eyes.  Jenkins pulled himself up to his full height; his soul suddenly felt stripped and exposed.

“Why would you do this, Mr. Jones?” he asked again, disconcerted, barely able to get the words past the large lump in his throat.  “Why would you go to all of this trouble...for _me_?”  Jones put the pendant back into the box, placed back into Jenkins’s hand, closing his long fingers over the box and raising his face to look directly into the tall man’s eyes.

“’Cause I’ve been there, mate,” he said plainly, his customary flippancy and arrogance gone.  “I know what it’s like to be rejected by the _one_ person in the whole world who’s supposed to love you and take care of you, no matter what—except they don’t.  They throw you away like a piece of trash.  And I know what it’s like to be found by someone who doesn’t owe you a damn thing, but they end up being your _true_ mother, ‘cause for whatever reason, they _do_ love you no matter what.”  The young man stood up and slipped his phone into his back pocket as Jenkins took the box back and stared at it, his fingers and chest numb. 

“That pendant is all you have left of Sister Sioned.  She wanted _you_ to have it, not some stupid museum.  Doesn’t matter how long ago you lost it, mate, in my book it’s still _yours_.  It needed to be returned to its rightful owner.”  The Librarian turned and started to walk away, their conversation apparently over as far as the thief was concerned.  Jenkins turned after him.

“Wait!”  Jones stopped and turned back.  Jenkins quickly strode over to the Librarian.  He stopped in front of the younger man and paused awkwardly for a moment; Ezekiel could see tears trying to pool in the immortal’s eyes.  Then, to the young man’s astonishment, Jenkins stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around him and held him tightly in a crushing bear hug.

“Thank you, Mr. Jones— _Ezekiel_ ,” he whispered hoarsely.  “I will _never_ forget this.  I am indebted to you.”  Ezekiel smirked as he returned the immortal’s hug, giving the old man a few hearty, fraternal pats on his broad back.

“No worries, mate,” he answered kindly, just a tinge of his usual impertinence in his voice.  He disentangled himself from Jenkins’s arms and stood back from him.  “After everything you’ve given me over the last few years, I think we’re pretty even now.” 

With that, the Librarian turned and headed off toward the kitchen for snack.


	7. The Angel of Portland

The pet supply store was crowded and buzzing today with holiday shoppers.  Jenkins hated crowds, but it was Christmas time and so they couldn’t be helped, and he simply couldn’t put off his shopping any longer.  Franklin went through chew toys and puzzle toys like candy, and if he didn’t have  the distraction provided by the toys, Jenkins feared the hyperactive little tea dragon would begin gnawing on the priceless and irreplaceable books and artifacts of the Library.  He shuddered inwardly at the thought.

Jenkins and Cassandra stood in line, patiently awaiting their turn to pay for the heaping cartload of supplies that garnered more than one questioning look from the other shoppers.  As they finally stepped up to the cashier, the tall immortal turned to his wife, lightly clapping his hand to his forehead.

“Cassandra, my dear,” he said in a distressed tone.  “Would you be so kind as to run back and pick up a large box of those treats that Franklin is so fond of?  I _completely_ forgot that we were out of them!”  Cassandra smiled brightly and patted his arm.

“Okay!  I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”  The redhead turned and left the line, hurrying off in the direction of the dog food aisles.  Jenkins then turned his attention to unloading the shopping cart.  As he heaped armload after armload of toys onto the counter, he smiled at the shell-shocked clerk.

“I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached!” he murmured amiably.  The clerk stared at him and said nothing, then began to ring up what promised to be _hundreds_ of dog toys.  While the clerk was manically scanning the items, Jenkins slipped a hand into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a tightly folded dollar bill.  He quietly slipped it into the collection jar of a local animal rescue, called The Jungle Haven Ranch.  It specialized in taking in exotic animals like tigers, monkeys, wolves, and even an Indian elephant—animals that had been rescued from circuses and irresponsible pet owners who had no idea how to care for a normally wild animal once it had grown out of infancy and into a full-grown adult.  Jenkins had seen a news report of the rescue several weeks ago, and how they were struggling with getting the funding they needed in order to take care of the animals properly.  Having down his good deed for the day, he then began loading the bags full of toys back into the cart as quickly as the clerk filled them.  Cassandra ran up a few minutes later carrying a huge box of dog treats in her arms.

“Ah!  Thank you, my dear!” Jenkins said as he relieved his young wife of the heavy burden and placed it on the counter.  He bent and gave her a small peck on her forehead.

“For your troubles,” he rumbled affectionately, then went back to loading the cart.

 

* * *

 

“Holy cow!” Ezekiel yelped a few days later, and looked up at the other Librarians as he held up his phone.

“You all are _not_ gonna believe this!”  Jacob, Cassandra, Eve and Flynn all looked up from their work and stared at him expectantly.

“There’s a news article here about a place outside of Portland called The Jungle Haven Ranch.  It’s a wild animal rescue that was on the verge of shutting down due to lack of money,” he continued.  “It says here that someone dropped a 1794 Flowing Hair dollar coin into one of their collection jars…”

“A WHAT??” hollered Jake, bolting upright in his chair, his blue eyes popping wide.  “Are you kiddin’ me, man?!  That _can’t_ be right!  That thing would be worth _millions_ of dollars!”  Cassandra and Baird exchanged confused glances, while Flynn leapt up from his seat and ran over to peer at the phone’s screen.

“Yep, that’s what it says!” the Librarian confirmed, then looked up at the others and rubbed his hands together.  “1794 Flowing Hair dollar, in pristine condition, too!  The first dollar coin issued by the US Mint, 1794-1795, _and_ one of _the_ rarest coins in the world.  Looks like the ‘Angel of Portland’ has struck again!”

“The _who_?” asked Eve, eyeing Flynn warily.  “This isn’t something that’s going to be showing up the Clippings Book anytime soon, is it?”

“No,” the Librarian answered, waving a dismissive hand.  “Nothing like that!  I first learned about the Angel not long after we arrived here at the Annex and did a little digging.  ‘The Angel of Portland’ is a nickname people have given to this person—no one knows who it is—who has gone around Portland each Christmastime for decades and drops one ultra-rare coin into a random charity’s holiday collection.  Each year it’s a different charity, each year everyone wonders who’ll be next to receive a donation.  Flowing Hair dollars, Fourteenth Century Edward III florins, 1787 Brasher doubloons, 1913 Liberty Head nickels, 1849 gold Double Eagles, Eighth Century Umayyad dinars—rare coins from all over the world, all time periods.”

“And each of ‘em is worth hundreds of thousands, in not millions, of dollars,” added Jacob.  “Man, I’d _love_ to meet who the cat that’s got a coin collection like that and can afford to just give ‘em away like that!”

“Yeah, but, _where_ could all these coins come from?” asked Eve, frowning.  “If they’re really as rare as you say, it seems like they could be traced back to their original owner pretty easily…?”  Flynn shrugged his shoulders.

“No one’s been able to find out so far, and believe me—people have been trying for years.  Every coin known to exist is accounted for.  It’s like _these_ coins just...fall from the sky!”  Carsen waved his hands up at the ceiling.

“Like pennies from heaven,” Baird bobbed her head in understanding.  “Hence the name, ‘Angel of Portland’.  Well, good for the animal rescue, then!  That should keep them in tiger kibble for a few years, anyway.” 

“If they invest the money wisely, they’ll never have to worry about tiger kibble again,” said Flynn.  “Same for all of the other charities, too.”

“What others have there been?” asked Cassandra, her brow furrowed.  Carsen began ticking them off on the fingers of one hand,

“Well, last year it was a small medical facility specializing in studies of the human brain and in research to find cures for various diseases of the brain.  The year before that it was the Bard Society of Oregon, the year before that it was the Portland Public Library.  The list goes on, all the way back to 1895 at least, when the first donation is believed to have been recorded—an uncirculated 1652 New England Pine Tree shilling, if memory serves.”

“If it goes that far back, it can’t possibly be the same person, then,” scoffed Jones.

“Yeah, but it _could_ be the family of the original donor, keepin’ the tradition goin’,” said Jake thoughtfully.  “Maybe a corporation, or a trust of some kind?”

The globe mechanism for the Back Door began to spin, the double-doors glowing to life.  They swung open to allow Jenkins to return from a relatively stress-free shopping trip to one of his favorite magical supply shops, his arms full of bags and tied-up bundles of all colors and sizes.  As he passed through the doorway, Franklin, the Caretaker’s pet tea dragon, appeared out of nowhere, jumping up and down with excitement and squealing shrilly in greeting. 

Jenkins gently dropped his burdens instantly onto the table and held his long arms out.  Franklin leaped up into them and began licking the man’s face, grunting happily the entire time.  Jenkins chuckled as the small dragon began poking his snout into the various pockets of the immortal’s overcoat and his suit jacket beneath in search of treats.  Jenkins, astonishingly, pulled out a caramel popcorn ball the size of a softball from a jacket pocket and held it up to show the dragon.  Franklin immediately began to screech with excitement and to claw frantically at the rare treat.  Jenkins stooped and rolled the candied corn across the floor, sending the tea dragon into paroxysms of joy.  He scrambled onto the man’s shoulder and launched himself after the popcorn ball, snapping at it as he chased it across the room, his claws skittering against the wood.  Laughing, Jenkins began gathering up his purchases.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, my dear,” he said.  “I need to take these to the lab while Franklin is distracted.”

“Here, I’ll help you!” she offered, and jumped up from her chair.  She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, then took as many of the packages as she could carry and began to walk with him down the corridor. 

Once they were in his magic laboratory, Jenkins directed her to drop all of the packages onto the main workbench.  As he began to sort through the various bundles and bags, Cassandra lingered and began to unwrap one of the larger bundles.  She gasped and jumped back in surprise, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she discovered it contained a large plastic bag full of what looked like furry, raw liver. 

“Omigod, Jenkins!” she yelped.  “What _is_ that?”  He looked over to see what she was talking about and chuckled.

“Ah, that would the selkie skin,” he said.  “It hasn’t been cleaned yet, that’s why it looks so disagreeable.  I always prefer to do the cleaning myself.  Delicate operation, must be done _just so_ or the quality of the skin and fur are completely ruined.”

“Don’t you have, like, a hundred of these things already?” the Librarian asked, still eyeing the repugnant-looking mess; it didn’t smell all that great, either.  Jenkins stopped to look her directly in the eye.

“One can _never_ have too many selkie skins, my dear!” he declared, but didn’t elaborate any further.  As he went back to sorting through his purchases, Cassandra covered the disgusting skin with its wrapping paper.  Turning her attention back to her husband, she walked over to stand next to him and slipped her arm lightly around his waist.

“Ezekiel was just telling us about an anonymous donation that an animal rescue received,” she said, trying to sound casual.  “Someone put a super-rare coin into one of their collection jars, Jake said it’s worth millions of dollars.  The rescue was gonna have to close its doors due to lack of money, but now he says they don’t have to worry about money ever again.”  Jenkins only grunted distractedly while he worked.  Cassandra tightened her arm slightly around his waist.

“And Flynn says that it’s been happening every Christmas for the last _100 years_ at least,” she continued, carefully watching him.  “They can’t figure out who’s been doing it, there’s been no discernible pattern to the charities that receive a donation, they’ve all been randomly picked apparently.  Until now, that is.”  The Librarian smiled in satisfaction as she felt her husband’s body tense beneath her arm ever so slightly, just for a moment.  His hands froze for just a second, then continued to untie a paper-wrapped parcel.

“Indeed?” Jenkins replied vaguely.

“Uh-huh,” she said, confidence in her voice.  “Over the last four years, at least, there actually _is_ a pattern.”  She held up a small hand and began to raise a finger for every item on her list.

“One—the year we all came to the Annex and became Librarians, a donation was made to the Portland Public Library.  Two—the year we defeated Prospero, a donation was made to the Bard Society of Oregon, which I just happen to know is a group that brings the work of Shakespeare to disadvantaged kids all over Cascadia.  Three—the year I had surgery to remove my tumor, a research hospital that specializes in finding cures and therapies for people suffering from brain injuries and diseases receives a donation.”  Cassandra turned and faced Jenkins.  He now stood straight and stock still as he listened to her recitation.

“And now _this_ year—the year that you just _happen_ to adopt a lost tea dragon, a rescue that specializes in saving exotic animals and giving them a happy, healthy, safe place to live out their lives receives a _huge_ donation that will set them up for life.  Coincidence?”  Cassandra shook her head, making her long red curls bob, and laid her hand on the immortal’s arm.  The immortal remained frozen, his eyes focused on the parcels, his face unreadable.

“I don’t think so,” she said quietly, looking up at the suddenly uneasy man.

“ _You’re_ the Angel of Portland, aren’t you?” she declared, a statement more than a question.  Jenkins remained unmoving and silent for a few moments, then turned his silver head to look down at her.  He inhaled deeply as he gazed at her, then exhaled and held out his hand.

“Come with me, my dear,” he said.  After securing the lab door against curious tea dragons, the Caretaker took his wife’s hand and led her back to their suite without another word, despite her curious questioning along the way.  When they were in his study, he strode over to the shelves lining one wall of the room.  Reaching high over his head, he pulled down a large, ornately-carved box of rosewood so old it was nearly black, and carried it over to his desk.  He dug around in a desk-drawer for a moment and retrieved a large brass key, inserted it into the box’s lock and turned it.  He lifted the lid and stood back so that Cassandra could have a clear look at the contents.  She stepped forward and peered inside, and gasped in shock:  The box was full of old coins.  She reached in and began to dig gently through the mass of metal. There were coins from all over the world, from a span of time that seemed to begin with the Dark Ages all the way through to the Nineteenth Century.  Gold, silver, copper, bronze, even a few coins made of what looked like jade.  Stunned, she turned her face up to his.

“Pocket change,” he offered, somewhat embarrassed.  “You know how some people have the habit of having jars or bowls where they empty their pockets of change at the end of the day?”  He nodded at the box.

“This is _my_ ‘change jar’, so to speak.  Except that I’ve been emptying _my_ pockets for over a thousand years, after journeys all over the world.  I would come back to the Library from a business trip, empty my pockets of change, and simply toss it all into this box, thinking that if I ever went back to a certain location I would already have some local currency to take with me.  I collected far more coinage than I ever spent, however.”  He scooped up a handful of the coins and let them slip through his long fingers, his expression distant.

“You know, King Arthur always encouraged his knights, his nobles, to practice almsgiving, especially at Christmas,” he said, seeming to change the subject, his voice tinged slightly with sadness at the memory.  “And he insisted that it be done anonymously—he was very strict on that point.  It wasn’t a true gift if one expected anything in return for it, even mere acknowledgement or simply thanks.”  A smile suddenly came to him.

“Every year during Advent, as an example to the court, Arthur would disguise himself as a beggar and go among his people, a fat purse full of gold coins hidden beneath his clothes.  Any time he came across some poor person, he would slip a coin or two amongst their meager possessions or into their begging bowls without them seeing him do it.  When his purse was empty, Arthur would come back to the castle and regale the court with stories of what he had seen.  He was never happier than after one of those forays,” Jenkins said.  The old immortal was quiet as he stared unseeingly into the box of coins, lost in the past. 

“Did you ever go with him?” Cassandra asked curiously.  Jenkins came back to the present and nodded.

“Yes, quite often, when he allowed anyone to accompany him, that is.  And I was always sworn to absolute secrecy afterward.  What he reported to the court barely scratched the surface of the great good he had done for his people on those outings.”  The old knight smiled again faintly and took a deep breath.

“I’ve carried on the tradition as best I can ever since,” he said.  “In the distant past I was able to do just as Arthur did—disguise myself and go among the poor, slipping them coins made of gold or silver that they could sell for the metal content.  After I joined the Library I wasn’t able to do that anymore—the Librarians forbid it.  So I had to content myself with dropping them into church or monastery poor boxes.  When I began to set up shop in Portland, I gave to local charities, but by then most of these coins were so rare that I didn’t dare give more than one or two for fear of drawing too much attention.  Plus, one coin a year guarantees that they will be untraceable _and_ maintain their highest value.”  Jenkins sighed as he fingered a solid gold Spanish doubloon. 

“Still, believe it or not, I miss the old days sometimes.  Going out among people, the challenge of hiding much-needed money in their pockets or in their bags, the feeling that it gives one to know that one has helped someone who _truly_ needed aid, and without expectation of thanks.  Imagining their faces when they discover their newfound wealth...”  He looked over at his young wife and smiled, almost bashfully.  

“There’s no other feeling like it on earth!”  With another deep sigh, Jenkins began to close the box, but Cassandra stopped him.

“But you can do it _now_!” she said urgently, her blue eyes shining with excitement.  “We can _both_ do it now!”  Jenkins opened his mouth to protest, but she cut in before he could say a word.

“No!  Listen!” she said, becoming more enthusiastic as she spoke.  “Take one of these coins of lesser value, one worth maybe a couple thousand dollars so that no one gets suspicious, and cash it in.  Get the money in small bills—tens, twenties, maybe a few fifties and hundreds.  Then we can just go out one day, wander around the city and give the money out to whoever we see who needs it!  But we don’t let them see us do it, just like Arthur said!”  She suddenly turned to face him, her blue eyes wide and shining.

“Oooo!” she yelped, clapping her hands with mounting excitement.  “We can get Ezekiel to show us some tricks so that we can sneak the money right into peoples’ pockets without them knowing!  Oh, Jenkins, let’s do it, please?!  It’ll be so much fun!”  It looked as though Jenkins was going to agree with her, but then he frowned.

“I hardly think Mr. Jones would be willing to tutor us in the art of reverse pick-pocketing without knowing the reason for it,” he said.  But Cassandra took on a knowing look.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” she said slyly, bouncing slowly on her toes.  “Especially when I show him the pictures I took of him while he was wearing Santa’s talisman hat a couple of years ago—like, the ones of him wearing that frilly apron and carrying a tray full of hot chocolate, or-r-r the ones of him making all those Christmas cookies while wearing said frilly apron and covered so adorably in flour...?  All I have to do is threaten to post them on Instagram and...”  She shrugged her shoulders carelessly, and Jenkins stared at her, awed.

“Dear God, woman!” he exclaimed, impressed.  “I do believe that you’re the _only_ person I’ve met in my entire life willing to blackmail a miscreant into doing a good deed!”

“’Blackmail’ is such an _ugly_ word,” she all but purred as she slipped her arms around her husband’s waist and looked up at him.  “I prefer the term _in pari delicto_ , don’t you?  It sounds so much nicer to me—‘ _in equal fault’_.  ‘Cause we _are_ all in this together, right?”  Jenkins threw his head back and laughed.

“You wicked, wonderful, clever woman!” he growled as he lowered his head to kiss her softly.  “Do you know how grateful I am that you’re on the side of the Library?”  Cassandra smiled at him as she snuggled against him. 

“No,” she said coyly.  “But then I’ve always been more of a _visual_ learner.  Why don’t you _show_ me how grateful you are...?"


	8. Chestnuts

Cassandra was excited beyond words.  Had it been anyone else, they might have been somewhat embarrassed to be so excited over something so trivial, but not Cassandra.  Ever since the surgery to remove her brain tumor had given her a new lease on life, she was determined to take nothing for granted, not even this:  She was not only going to have roasted chestnuts for the first time in her life, she was actually going to roast them _herself_!

She had seen fresh chestnuts for sale at the grocery store and simply had to try them.  Not sure how many the average household would typically buy, she simply guessed and bought five pounds.  As soon as she returned to the Annex, she researched how to prepare and roast them.  She carefully washed and dried the little brown nuts, then painstakingly cut a small ‘X’ into each nut’s tough skin as a steam vent.  She then spread them all out on a large cookie sheet and turned on the oven.  She bounced on her toes impatiently while the oven warmed up to the proper temperature, still not quite able to believe that she was really going to have fresh, roasted chestnuts for the very first time in her life.  How freaking Christmassy was _that_?!  She hoped that she liked them.

“Ah, Cassandra my dear, here you are!” said Jenkins as he entered the kitchen in need of a fresh pot of tea.  “I wanted to ask you if you would mind looking over…”  He stopped as soon as his eyes fell on the huge tray of waiting chestnuts sitting on the countertop.

“Good Lord, woman!” he exclaimed, coming over to take a closer look.  “You have enough chestnuts here to feed a small village!”  The young woman looked up at him anxiously.

“Really?” she asked.  “Is this too many?  I wasn’t sure how many to get, I thought maybe they would shrink as they cook?”  Seeing her crestfallen look, Jenkins silently kicked himself for spoiling what was obviously something fun for her, and tried to repair some of the damage.

“Well, personally speaking, there’s really no such as a thing as _too_ many chestnuts,” he reassured her.  “I adore them, myself, though it’s been a while since I’ve had them.”  He looked over the tray of nuts, quickly inspecting each and pulling off the ones that experience told him were bad.  He showed them to his wife.

“You can skip these.  See these dark spots?  That means the meat inside is molded and inedible.”  He tossed them into the waste-bin.  The Librarian’s eyes suddenly shone with renewed excitement.

“Do you know how to roast these things?” she asked.  “I mean, am I doing it right?  I did a bunch of research online and this is what it said to do…”  Jenkins smiled, his brown eyes crinkling with happiness in the way that always made her heart skip a beat.

“Indeed I do!  I’ve roasted _many_ a nut in my day,” he said jovially, then, catching himself, gave her an impish wink.  “That didn’t come out quite right, did it?”  Cassandra laughed and slipped an arm around his waist, laid her head on his arm.

“So I’ll make you a deal:  You tell me if I’m doing this correctly, and I’ll let you have some when they’re done!” she said cheerily.  Jenkins wound his own arm around her tiny waist and gave her quick hug.

“A cheap price to pay for such a tasty treat!” he murmured gladly.  He gave the top of her red head an affectionate peck before releasing her.  “If you’d really like to learn how it’s done, then grab that tray and follow me.”

Jenkins turned and strode briskly across the kitchen to hold the door open for Cassandra as she navigated the large tray through the doorway.  He lead her to their suite and into his sitting room, where there just happened to be a warm fire crackling in the fireplace.  Jenkins took the cumbersome tray from his wife and set it on his desk.

“Now, you sit down and make yourself comfortable, my dear,” he instructed.  “I’ll be back in no time.”  He left the room while the Librarian settled into the soft, dark brown leather sofa in front of the fire.  As she waited for Jenkins to return, she idly poked the logs with the old iron poker, enjoying the warmth on her skin.

After several minutes, her husband returned, carrying what looked like an antique bed-warming pan that she’d once seen in history books.  Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“What’s that for?” she asked.  Her husband gave her one of his patented looks of exasperation.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve never even _seen_ an honest to goodness chestnut roasting pan before?” he said acidly.  Cassandra snorted at his sarcasm.

“I can’t help it if I was born at a time when people cook their food on stoves in pots and pans, instead of stabbing it onto a pointed stick and then holding it over a bonfire!” she shot back boldly.  Rather than take offense, the immortal merely shook his head sadly.

“You poor child of the ironically-named Information Age,” he muttered, as if to himself.  “To know so much, and yet live in so much ignorance at the same time.”  Cassandra jumped up from the sofa and went to stand next to him at the desk.  She swatted his arm in mock anger at his teasing.  Jenkins began scooping some of the chestnuts into the square, flattish brass box at the end of the long wooden handle.

“So how does this work?” she asked.  “Do you hold it over the fire until they’re cooked?”  Her husband closed the lid of the box and carried the roasting pan over to the fire, Cassandra right behind him.

“Yes, they should be ready in about twenty-five minutes or so.  When you hear a popping sound, that means they’re almost ready!”  He lowered his tall frame to floor in front of the fireplace, crossing his long legs.  He held the roasting pan over the fire, occasionally giving the chestnuts a good shaking to make sure they evenly roasted.  Cassandra plopped down on the floor next to him and put her arm around his back as she laid her head on his shoulder, and watched him roast the nuts. 

After a few minutes off small talk, the couple fell silent, the only sounds being the snapping wood as it burned and the metallic rustle of the chestnuts in the pan whenever Jenkins shook them.  Eventually the Caretaker held the pan’s handle with one hand while he slid his free arm around Cassandra’s shoulders.  He laid his head against hers, and a few seconds later he began to sing “The Christmas Song”.  It was one of Cassandra’s favorite yuletide songs, and she joined him, her pure soprano blending perfectly with his richer baritone.  As the song progressed they grew louder until by the time they reached the line “Merry Christmas to you!” they were turned and gazing mawkishly into each other’s eyes. 

They leaned toward each other simultaneously and their lips met for a soft kiss.  Jenkins’s hand moved up his wife’s back and came to rest lightly on the back of her head as he quickly followed up the first kiss with second, more sensuous one.  Cassandra responded, her small hand holding onto him at the back of his neck.  Suddenly, there was a loud POP from the roasting pan, startling them both and causing Jenkins to almost drop the pan into the fire.  A second popping sounded, quickly followed by a third.  Cassandra giggled and clapped her hands.

“Are they done?” she asked excitedly.  Jenkins nodded his head.

“Almost,” he said.  “We’ll give them a few more minutes, shall we?”  He leaned over again to nuzzle her temple.

“Careful!” she laughed, giving him a sly look and coquettishly slapping his knee while trying to lean back out of his reach.  “We don’t want your nuts to burn!”  Jenkins stretched out his free arm and easily caught his teasing wife by hooking a large hand behind her neck and pulling her back towards him.  He lowered his head and kissed her again, leisurely and deeply, ending it with a light nip to her plump lower lip.  He then rested his forehead against hers, the end of his nose pressed against the tip of hers.  As all of this was going on, the roasting pan slowly drooped in his right hand until the pan came to rest on the hearth, forgotten.

“No, indeed!” he growled, voice low and lusty all of a sudden.  The pan’s handle slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.  The immortal wrapped her tightly in both arms and pulled her down to partially lie across his lap.  He then dropped his head to kiss her yet again, much more hungrily this time.  Cassandra kissed him back as she threaded her slim fingers into the thick white at his temple, all thoughts of chestnuts melting away as the two lovers happily partook of their own special version of ‘holiday cheer’.


	9. Ugly Christmas Sweaters, Part 2

“Fraaaaank-liiiiin!  Look what I have for you!” the Librarian sang as she ran into the workroom.  Clutched in her hands was a long, tube-like object she had knitted from sparkly bright red yarn.  It was festooned with appliqued pagodas, chopsticks, lanterns and Chinese-language characters, all fashioned by hand using the showiest, glitteriest materials she could find and festooned with sequins and beads.  Jenkins looked up from his work in time to see her hold the garish thing up in front of her; that’s when he saw the four tiny sleeves, and realized with horror what it was.

“Oh, Cassandra— _no_!” he groaned, quickly standing up and heading towards his bubbling wife.  “ _Please_ , don’t tell me you’ve make a sweater for Franklin!”  Behind him, on his desk, a sleeping Franklin stirred and yawned sleepily, then became still again.  Cassandra stopped and cocked her head at Jenkins.

“Of course it’s sweater for Franklin!  Everyone else has a Christmas sweater, he needs one, too!” she said, and held it up even higher for him to see.  “Isn’t it just _too_ cute?  He’ll look _so_ adorable in it!”  She swept past the immortal and made a beeline for the oblivious tea dragon.

“Look, Franklin!  See what I’ve made for you!  Let’s try it on and see how it looks!”  Cassandra sat in Jenkins’s chair and grabbed the snoozing little animal.  She plopped him into her lap and immediately began trying to pull the sweater over Franklin’s long head.  Startled awake and not having the slightest idea what was happening, except that something was apparently trying to smother him, Franklin began to struggle wildly and screamed in alarm.

“Cassandra, don’t!” Jenkins exclaimed, and hurried over to them.  “You’re frightening him!”

“He’ll be okay, I’ve got him,” she replied, tightening her grip so that the panicking reptile couldn’t squirm out of her grasp.  “I just have to get the sweater over his head...”  But she could only manage to get the garment onto his head, and not over it.  Franklin knew only that he his vision was blocked and something had hold of him, and his self-preservation instinct kicked in.  He lashed out in terror, swiping blindly with paws armed with surprisingly sharp claws.  At the same time he screeched in fear and shot his head forward, his jaws snapping.  Through the soft woolen yarn, he felt his teeth sink into soft flesh, and he instinctively clamped down on it.  He heard a loud, high-pitched scream; suddenly he wasn’t being held anymore, and he felt himself being swung around in the air while the “predator” that attacked him continued to scream.  He heard Bái Shān yelling in alarm and the sounds of a struggle around him.  His head still covered and unable to see anything, Franklin he held on, growling and sinking his teeth even more deeply into the creature’s flesh.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as Jenkins tried to swab her wounds with disinfectant as gently as he could.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, did I hurt you?” he asked, pausing in his ministrations for a moment.  Cassandra shook her head, but said nothing.  He could see the tears welling in her eyes.  The immortal continued to swab her injuries, shaking his head.

“This is a rather nasty bite,” he commented conversationally.  “I’d forgotten how ferocious the smaller varieties of dragons can be.  Franklin has been so docile and friendly until now.”

Cassandra, on the verge of crying, remained silent as she watched her husband tend her wounded arm.  Franklin had bitten her badly, and there were several deep scratches on her arms and hands.  Jenkins glanced up in time to see a large tear slip from her eye and roll slowly down her cheek. 

He sighed quietly and quickly finished his work in silence, daubing her scratches and the bite with a special salve he had created for just such injuries, then bound the bite wound on her arm.  He laid aside his medicines and tools and turned to face the unhappy woman.

“Why are you so sad, my dear?” he asked gently and took her hands in his.  Her lower lip quivered and she refused to meet his gaze.  Tears began to fall over her pale cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Jenkins—I didn’t mean to hurt Franklin,” she whispered, still keeping her eyes down.  “I don’t know why I did something so stupid!  I’m so sorry...!”  Her face scrunched up into an ugly grimace as she dropped her head, and her thin shoulders began to shake as she burst into sobs.  Surprised by the outburst, Jenkins took her into his arms at once and held her.

“Oh, Cassandra, my love, don’t cry!” he said soothingly.  “Franklin is just fine, he’s not hurt at all.  He was only frightened, that’s all, you know that!”  He pulled away and lifted her face between his hands so he could see her.

“Why are you _really_ crying?” he asked.  Cassandra snuffled noisily.

“B-because I know how much you love him,” she whimpered.  “And I’m afraid you would hate me if I ever _did_ hurt him, and I...I  just can’t bear the thought of you hating me for anything!”  The misery in his wife’s voice tore at Jenkins’s heart.  He gathered her up in his arms again and hugged her tightly.

“Cassandra, my love, you have _nothing_ to be afraid of!” he said softly.  “I love you!  Yes, I love Franklin, very much—but you’re my _wife_!  I love you more than anything else in the world, and there is nothing you can do that will ever change that!”  He raised one hand to stroke the back of her head.

“Y-you’re not angry with me, then?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly.  Jenkins shook his head and chuckled softly.

“Of course not, my love!  I know you didn’t mean any harm to Franklin,” he assured her.  “And you _didn’t_ harm him, not at all.  Except for perhaps giving him a lifelong phobia of Christmas sweaters...”  Cassandra couldn’t help the harsh bark of laughter that slipped through her tears.  Jenkins smiled and rubbed her back.

“That’s better,” he murmured, nuzzling her soft red hair.  “I love to hear you laugh.”  She laughed again, more naturally and more cheerful-sounding this time.  She leaned back from him and looked up at him, a penitent expression on her face.

“So you forgive me?” she asked.  Jenkins gave her a reproving look.

“Of course I do, my love,” he said, smiling.  “I’m afraid the one you actually have to make amends to is Franklin.”  Cassandra made a face of distaste.

“Poor little guy,” she said.  “He’s probably never going to let me near him ever again!” 

“Nonsense, my dear,” Jenkins said warmly, patting her hand.  “Franklin loves you very much.  And I think that he’ll actually _enjoy_ your gift, we just need to be a little more careful in how we introduce it to him.”  The immortal stood up and held out his hand to the Librarian.

“Fortunately, you very eye-catching creation wasn’t damaged in the first go-around.  So let’s you and I go now and see if we can coax that little rapscallion into trying it on, hmm?”  Cassandra stood up and placed her hand in his, her tears gone and her mood much lighter now.  As they headed back to the workroom, the Librarian’s natural bubbly personality began to reassert itself.

“I hope the LED lights weren’t damaged!” she said. 

“LED lights?” Jenkins repeated, careful to keep his tone nondescript.  Cassandra giggled.

“Yes!” she answered with enthusiasm.  “The sweater seemed a little plain after I finished making it, so I thought adding a bunch of tiny little red and gold LED lights that blink would give it a little extra oomph!”  The Caretaker threw back his head and genuinely laughed.

“I think you succeeded admirably in your mission, then, my dear,” he said.  “That sweater is the very definition of ‘oomph’, I think!”  The young woman grinned, pleased with his praise.  She turned to look up at her husband.

“Speaking of sweaters,” she said.  “You’re going to wear _your_ Christmas sweater, right?  The one I made for you last Christmas?”  Jenkins’s eyes widened slightly in sudden panic.

“Oh! Yes!  Yes!  Of course!” he stumbled a little too loudly, and plastered a wide, false smile onto his face.  He shuddered mentally at the memory of the very flashy “Sir Galahad” knight-themed garment.

“I haven’t worn it yet, in fact, only because I worry that I may damage it somehow—spill tea on it or something like that, and that would be a _terrible_ shame!” he said, hoping to put off the inevitable for at least a few more days.  Cassandra smiled up at him.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetie!” she said cheerfully.  “I made sure to use stain-resistant yarn, and I can always replace any of the sequins or beads that might come off!  Why don’t you go ahead and wear it tomorrow?”  Jenkins smiled stiffly as he looked down into his wife’s eager face.

“Wonderful!” he replied, forcing cheerfulness into his voice.  “I can hardly wait!”

The smile that lit up his beautiful wife’s face and the accompanying squeal of delight was worth every second of the relentless teasing he knew he was going to receive from the others the next day.  And Jenkins was perfectly content with that.


	10. The Christmas Court

Jacob Stone gasped raggedly for breath as he stared at his opponent, his blue eyes steely, his upper lip curled with determination.  He raised his sword as he sized up the “foe”, then, with a loud whoop, he charged, slashing backhanded at the other man’s upraised blade.  But at the last second, Jacob pulled his swordhand back, ducking and spinning at the same time.  He lashed out again with his sword, aiming to take his opponent out by slashing his legs. 

Jenkins, however, had seen the move coming a mile off and nimbly hopped over the blade of Jacob’s sword.  As he landed again, he brought the tip of his own sword down and lightly pressed it into the back of the Librarian’s neck. 

“Touché, Mr. Stone,” he rumbled. Jake dropped his weapon in surrender.  As soon as Jenkins removed his sword, Stone jumped up and faced the old immortal.

“You saw that comin’, didn’t ya?” he barked in irritation with himself, waving his hand in front of face.  He had a terrible habit of communicating his thoughts with his eyes, and Jenkins could read him like a well-loved book.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Stone,” the Caretaker confirmed as he bent to pick up Jacob’s discarded sword.  “But your backhand stroke is improving remarkably.  Had I not been able to read your intentions on your face, you _might_ well have done me some serious injury.”  He peered pointedly down his nose at the younger man.

“And I do emphasize the word, ‘might’,” he said, his tone just barely teasing.  Jake grinned at the praise and the two started to walk over to the bench sitting along one wall of the training room.  Jake looked forward to these swordsmanship lessons with Jenkins with eager anticipation; ever since Jake had helped save Franklin’s life after the tea dragon’s run-in with one of the giant bees in the Library’s hive, Jenkins had taken Jacob on as a sort of apprentice.  Stone had always looked up to Jenkins, and these lessons in swordsmanship had become a time for bonding with the immortal.  Jenkins was surprisingly open with Jake now, more than willing to share stories from his past and answer the historian’s questions.  Well, _most_ of his questions.

Stone flopped down exhaustedly onto the bench and handed a bottle of water to Jenkins, who didn’t even seem to be winded.  The older man sat down next to Jake and took a swig of water from the bottle.

“Hey, J,” the Librarian began, and Jenkins smiled to himself.  Mr. Stone always prefaced his inquiries thus when he wanted to ask Jenkins about something from his past.

“What was the best Christmas you ever had?” Jake’s eyes shone eagerly as he awaited the Caretaker’s answer.  A smile spread across the immortal’s face as an image came instantly to mind.  He chuckled softly and took another drink of water.

“I’ve had many very fine Christmases, Mr. Stone,” he said jovially.  “Especially since meeting Cassandra.  But I presume what you want to know is, what was the best Christmas I ever had in my _younger_ days.”  He screwed the cap back onto the bottle of water and set it aside.

“That would the Christmas in which I defeated my father in a jousting match, in front of King Arthur and the entire court.”  Jacob’s eyes popped open wide, and he leaned in closer, dying to hear the story.

“You beat Dulaque— _Sir Lancelot_ —in a joust?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually heard such a wonderful thing.  “In front of _King Arthur_ himself?!”  Jenkins nodded his white head and Jacob pumped a fist with glee.

“Aw, man, you _gotta_ tell me that story!” he all but shouted, and turned his body to face the old knight.  “And don’t you leave _nuthin’_ out, you hear me?!”  Jenkins laughed as he leaned back against the wall and paused a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Arthur was hosting a feast for his knights and their ladies on St. Stephen’s Day,” he began his story.  “Of course, being the Octave of Christmas, there was no more fasting, and so the food and drink was abundant.  Someone began talking about the tournament season that would arrive with the Spring, and the various knights began to boast of their greatest victories in the lists.  It was discovered that my father and I both had exactly the same number of victories in jousting.  Being in their cups, the knights began to call for a joust to determine which of us was the best jouster.”  Jenkins paused a moment as he recalled that scene:  The crowded banqueting hall festooned with holly, fir and ivy garlands, the sound of the massive oaken Yule log snapping and popping as it blazed in the huge hearth, the fine beeswax candles perfuming the air with the faint scent of honey, servants rushing about madly serving mead, ale and wine to the assembled knights and ladies, as well as the platters of venison, goose, boar and other delicacies.  The raucous laughter, the shouting, the songs, the flutes, drums and pipes of musicians.  The heroic tales sung by the court bards.  The world would never see days like those again…

“So what happened?” urged Jacob, rousing Jenkins from his reveries.  The old knight took up his tale again.

“My father had a terrible drive to be the best in _everything_ ,” he said.  “And he didn’t like the idea of anyone being his equal, not even his own son.”  He could see his father again on that day— lordly, cocksure, seated at the King’s Table itself and surrounded by the younger knights who looked up to him as a model of knighthood.  And by several young, very beautiful ladies of the court, as well.  Galahad, as was his custom in large gatherings, kept to himself at the lowliest place in the hall, in the seat furthest away from the King’s Table.

“My father turned to look at me and said, ‘What say you, Galahad?  Shall we joust and put an end to this uncertainty?’”  Jenkins mimicked his father’s voice as best he could, giving Jake a perfect mental picture of Dulaque’s haughtiness.

“I tried to demure, of course; I didn’t think it seemly to be in competition with another knight over something so ephemeral as who was the best jouster in the land.  And it certainly wasn’t appropriate to be in competition with my own father,” the immortal continued.  “But the court would have none of it, and they kept egging us on.  At last, even Arthur couldn’t resist entering the fray.  ‘Lancelot!’ he says, ‘it seems the wolf has sired a dog!’”

“Whoa, that’s pretty cold!” interjected Stone, frowning.  “I can’t believe Arthur called you a dog!”  But Jenkins only laughed again.

“Not at all, Mr. Stone,” he replied.  “That was merely an old saying in those days; Arthur only meant that my temperament was the polar opposite of Lancelot’s.  It wasn’t meant as an insult at all—at least, not to _me_.”  Lancelot, on the other hand, _had_ taken it as an insult.  It had always irritated the proud knight that his own offspring didn’t seem to have the same level of cutthroat ambition or aggression as Lancelot.  Du Lac also knew that Arthur was aware of his indiscretions with the Queen Guinevere, and felt that Arthur sought to humiliate him in front of the other knights at every opportunity, to knock Lancelot back into his proper place.  Jenkins shook his head and picked up the thread of his story.

“Lancelot rose and challenged me bluntly to a jousting duel, that very day.  I didn’t really want to, but he put me into a rather awkward position where I could not really refuse.  So I accepted the challenge.”  Jenkins recalled the look of smug confidence on Lancelot’s face.

“Oh, _man_!” hooted Jacob as he rocked back and forth, caught up in the story.  “Dude!  I woulda given _anything_ to see that!  What happened next?”  The old knight smiled at the historian’s enthusiasm.

“Arthur ordered the list prepared.  Lancelot and I ordered our squires to prepare our armor, our lances, our horses.  The entire court bundled up and went out into the cold and snow to watch us joust.”  The weather had been bitterly cold.  Even with all of the knights’ mail armor and the quilted padding beneath it to help keep them warm, Galahad’s teeth were soon chattering slightly as he mounted his horse.  There were three or four inches of snow on the ground, not enough to hinder horses very much at a walk, but snow could be treacherous at a full-on gallop.

“We mounted our horses, took up our positions at either end of the list,” Jenkins continued.  “Our squires handed us our lances, and we waited for the King to give us the signal.”  Jenkins didn’t mention the insults and taunts that Lancelot hurled at his son, calling him a bastard whelp that Lancelot should’ve drowned at birth, but the upstart Galahad would soon be taught a lesson for his impertinence.  It wasn’t unusual for knights to ‘psych out’ an opponent in such a fashion, but Galahad knew that Lancelot’s invectives were meant seriously, and it wounded the young knight’s heart deeply.

“Soon enough, Arthur gave the signal, and we were off.  Did you know, Mr. Stone, that a horse bearing a fully-armored armored knight can reach a speed of almost thirty miles per hour?  And that when a lance hits an opponent’s shield, he is striking that man with over three and half G’s of force?”  The old knight shook his head in wonder that _anyone_ had ever walked away from the lists in one piece.  Jake wasn’t really interested in the physics of medieval jousting, however.

“So, but, you _won_ , right?!” the historian clamored, his eyes wide and his body hunched forward eagerly.  Jenkins couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, his dark eyes sparkling.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Stone; I won!” he rumbled.  “We spurred our horses into a full gallop, lances down, resting on the top edge of our shields.  As we closed in on each other, the shafts of our lances touched, and I could feel mine shimmy a bit as it crossed and dragged against his.  Then, suddenly, a split-second later—BOOM!”  Stone jumped at the loud exclamation as Jenkins’s hands flew into the air and outward, mimicking an explosion.

“We struck each other at the exact same instant, dead on target, and both of our lances splintered, large chunks of wood flying everywhere like missiles!  I fell backward in my saddle so far I thought I was going to break my back on the high backrest we used on saddles in those days—it felt like I’d been hit by a garbage truck!”  It had been a mighty blow that Lancelot had struck Galahad, knocking the wind right out of his lungs.  The sharp pain in his back as he fell backwards over.  But, somehow, I managed to stay in my seat, though I must confess it was difficult to breathe at first, whether through the blow or because I simply forgot to breathe in all the excitement, I can’t say.”  It _had_ been a horrific blow.  One moment Galahad was upright in the saddle, his heart pounding in his ears, the next instant he was bent so far back by the force of the blow he received from Lancelot that he was sure his back was going to break.  The lances, already cold and brittle, had shattered like glass when they struck the shields.  One large shard of a lance had flown into the crowd and impaled a man through his upper chest like a dagger.  He lost the use of his right arm that day, though he could count himself fortunate to have at least survived the spectacle. 

Galahad heard the roar of the court.  By some miracle, he had managed to stay in his saddle.  As his horse slowed to a trot, he hauled himself upright again, clutching the reins in one tight fist, while the other still clutched what was left of his lance in a death grip.  He turned his horse around to see where Lancelot was, and was utterly stunned to see his father lying flat on his back on the snow-covered ground, knocked completely senseless, his horse trotting off unburdened while grooms tried to catch it.  Jenkins could still feel the rush of euphoria that had swept over him at the realization that he had actually defeated his father in a joust.  It was the very first time Galahad had ever beaten his father at _anything_.  Galahad had been all of seventeen years old at the time, and he had felt ten feet tall.

“I had succeeded in unhorsing Lancelot, and rather decisively, too, I might add,” Jenkins said, unable to keep a note of pride out of his voice.  “Arthur declared me the winner on the spot, and, as was his custom, awarded me a token as a remembrance of the duel.”  Jake’s ear really perked up at that.

“What was it?” he asked, almost breathless.  Jenkins smiled and cocked his head at the younger man.

“He plucked a ring from his hand and gave it to me right there—a large, gaudy, gold thing with a sapphire the size of wren’s egg set into it,” Jenkins replied, crinkling his nose slightly with distaste.  “Not really my style, you understand, so I’ve never worn it, but I could hardly refuse to accept it.  He _was_ the king, after all.”  Jacob was beside himself with excitement.

“You still got it?” he asked, the words tumbling from his mouth almost too fast for his tongue to form them.  “Can I see it??  Like, can I see it right now?!?”  The knight laughed, amused by Stone’s exuberance.

“Indeed you may, Mr. Stone!” he answered cheerfully as an idea suddenly came to him, and stood up.  “In fact, I’ll make you a Christmas present of it to you, of sorts:  I swear to you on my honor as a knight that on the day you best me with the sword, I shall award that very same ring to you in acknowledgement of your mastery of the skill.  Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Stone?” 

Jacob stood and stared in astonishment at the old immortal for several seconds, just until his brain had fully processed and understood what exactly it had just heard.  He then exploded in a paroxysm of excitement, jumping straight up into the air and whooping with joy, as if the Oklahoma Sooners had just won the Super Bowl against the New England Patriots.

“Are you _kiddin’_ me, Jenkins?!” he hollered.  “Are you freakin’ _kiddin’_ me, man?  You _better not_ be kiddin’ me!  Are you just jerkin’ my chain or what?  Man, are you _serious_?!”  Stone babbled on for several minutes before he finally calmed down enough to hear Jenkins assure him that he was, indeed, serious.

“I mean just what I say, Mr. Stone,” he said, draping his long arm companionably over Stone’s shoulders as they began to leave the training room.  “I think it will be an excellent motivational tool.  Perhaps it can inspire you to redouble your efforts in learning how to hide your thoughts from an opponent rather than broadcasting them through your facial expressions as clearly as semaphore message…”

“Aw, come on, J, I ain’t _that_ bad…am I?” Jacob asked, suddenly chastened.  Jenkins smiled mysteriously as they walked.

“We shall see, Mr. Stone.  We shall see.”


	11. We WON'T Be Home for Christmas

**_Damn_** _those Cillians!_ Jenkins thought angrily, carefully adjusting his arm that was underneath Cassandra so as not to wake her.  He also had some harsh words for himself, as well _. **Why** did I let her talk me into this in the first place?  I **knew** it was a bad idea, I **knew** she would end up being hurt by the them again!  I should’ve put my foot down, I should’ve protected her!_

Cassandra had talked him into going to New York for a short visit with her parents before Christmas.  Jenkins had been reluctant; Mr. and Mrs. Cillian were still not comfortable with their daughter’s choice for a husband, they thought he was far too old for her, yet another source of embarrassment their rebellious daughter had brought to the family, really.  But Cassandra still held out hope that she could win her parents’ affection.  He had relented, against his better judgement.  And as he had feared, the visit had gone very badly.  It wasn’t more than a few hours before his wife was in tears.  Jenkins immediately gathered their things and brought her back to Portland.  The rest of the day had been spent in comforting Cassandra and trying to undo the damage those insufferable people had done to her.

They were now stretched out on the huge bed in their room, the dim light of the setting sun gradually dying.  Cassandra was curled up against her husband’s body, his arms holding her protectively.  She had cried herself to sleep an hour ago, worn out and emotionally drained.  Jenkins continued to cuddle her, holding her close and gently kissing her head as she slept, whispering to her how much he loved her.  Through the bond they shared with their Sealing, he could feel her misery and bewilderment, and it sliced into his heart.  All she wanted was for her parents to love her, to be proud of her—and they refused.  It made the immortal furious.  How could they be so hard-hearted?  How could they not love their daughter?  She was kind, smart, beautiful, generous to a fault.  She had her whole life in front of her now, a life that was sure to be full of adventure and discovery and achievement—how could they _not_ want to be a part of it?  Why did they keep pushing her away?

Cassandra stirred in his arms and whimpered softly in her sleep.  Jenkins instantly ceased his angry thoughts.  She could sense them through their bond, and the last thing she needed right now was all of _his_ anger issues with his in-laws piled on top what she already had to deal with. 

The immortal cleared his mind of all thought, utilizing some old meditation techniques he had picked up in Tibet a few centuries ago.  He then began to allow only pleasant thoughts and memories to come to mind, especially ones that pertained to his relationship with Cassandra.  He visualized the day they were Sealed, calling to mind as much detail as possible, letting the sensations of sheer, overwhelming joy and love that he’d felt on that day well up within himself.  They were powerful memories, and they generated equally powerful feelings, and he used their bond to share everything with her in the hopes of counter-acting the negative emotions and beliefs her parents had instilled in his beloved Librarian.

Cassandra stirred again in his arms.  Looking down, Jenkins was pleased to see a small smile on her face as she, too, was now reliving in her dreams that wonderful day of their Sealing.  She snuggled against him, and he could feel her body relax at last.  He placed his lips as close to her ear as he could without risk of waking her and whispered to her.

“Don’t ever forget, Cassandra:  You are a _Librarian_ —a member of a very elite, _very_ special group of people, and just because your parents can’t point to a plaque or a ribbon or a degree that you’ve won and somehow claim the responsibility for it doesn’t negate that fact one iota!”  He paused for a moment, then continued, his low voice now, more commanding and unflinching. 

“You are a _brilliant_ scientist, Cassandra Cillian Jenkins, _incredibly_ gifted with all things magical!”  He raised his head slightly, proudly, as he continued loftily.

“You are a _queen_ , figuratively and literally; never forget that!  You are a knight’s lady—no mean position by any stretch of the imagination!  You are my wife, my beloved, beautiful Cassandra; I would die for you, my love!  Don’t let _anyone_ take any of these things away from you!”  He paused again for a moment. 

“And while perhaps your parents are correct in that I’m not the _youngest_ or most handsome stallion in the meadow anymore,” he murmured in a slightly affronted tone.  “I daresay that there’s still _plenty_ about me that at least some fillies find desirable—else I would never have caught the eye of _this_ leggy little chestnut right here!”  Jenkins kissed his wife’s head tenderly.

Cassandra giggled softly in her sleep and snuggled into his chest, then went on to dream of riding fine, strong horses through the Heart of the Library with her knight in shining armor..

 


	12. Nadolig

Jenkins laid his gloved hand on the worn brass knob of the familiar dark-green door and paused.  He turned to look at the petite redhead next to him as she nervously fidgeted with the hem of her gray wool winter coat.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Cassandra?” he asked solicitously.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, there’s no rush.”  She met his gaze and nodded quickly.

“Yeah, I’m ready.  Just a little nervous, that’s all.”  Jenkins reached his hand out and gently took hers, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Perfectly understandable, my dear, given the circumstances of your last visit,” he said.  “But remember, I will be right next to you the entire time.  And if you feel like you need to leave at any time, tell me so and we’ll go immediately.  I promise.”  Cassandra nodded again, feeling somewhat reassured.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath as she turned to face the door.  “Let’s do this.”  Jenkins held onto her hand as he turned the brass doorknob and pushed the large, heavy door open on silent hinges.

They stepped through the doorway and into a small, snow-covered clearing.  A few yards off was the beginning of a foreboding, primeval forest of large, dark, thick-barked trees covered with shaggy moss, ice and snow.  Cassandra could see only a few feet into the forest before the darkness swallowed up the daylight.  Next to her, Jenkins gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“Still all right?” he asked quietly.  Cassandra nodded, hoping she looked braver than she felt right now.

“Shall I call them now?” he asked.  She nodded again.  The large man put two fingertips into his mouth as he filled his lungs with air and gave a long, shrill whistle, his breath hanging in the cold, still air.  The two then waited.  Jenkins could feel Cassandra’s tiny hand tighten its grip onto his as she stared apprehensively into the ink-dark trees for what seemed like forever.  As soon as they heard the sounds of movement coming toward them from the forest, he felt his wife release her grip on his hand and move to hide herself behind him, her hands going now to clutch his arm as she peered around him.

Materializing like spirits from between the eldritch-looking trunks, a dozen or so unicorns suddenly appeared.  All of them stopped at the edge of the forest, except for one—a huge, elk-like animal with steel-dust coloring and a single long, perfectly-formed horn spiraling from the middle of his forehead.  The closer the beast came to them, the further behind Jenkins Cassandra cowered.  The immortal exchanged the traditional greeting among unicorns, the man and the beast touching nose to nose.

“Roger...” the Caretaker murmured softly, raising his arm to stroke the wary unicorn’s head as he drew near.  “How are you, my old friend?  It’s been some months since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”  The unicorn stretched out his nose to tentatively sniff, then lightly lick the man’s cheek.  Apparently satisfied, Roger then inched more confidently closer to Jenkins.  The fearful Librarian peeked out from behind her husband’s large body.  As soon as the unicorn saw her, he gave a loud, snorted grunt in alarm and backed quickly away from the two humans.  He trotted a few yards off and then turned back to them, pawing the icy ground nervously.  The other unicorns immediately became more agitated, some of them turning and disappearing back into the woods.  Jenkins heard a sigh behind him.

“This was a dumb idea, Jenkins, I never should’ve come with you; I should’ve known that they would remember me,” said Cassandra.  “I’m going back to the Library before they get angry and decide to shish-kabob me in revenge for what happened to Tim!”  She started to head back to the door, but Jenkins caught her hand.

“Cassandra, wait!” he said.  “They won’t hurt you, I promise.  Unicorns don’t exact revenge.  In fact, they very rarely initiate an attack, the horns are primarily for defense, and for display during the mating season.”  He gently pulled her back to his side.

“Clearly they remember you and what happened the last time we were here,” he said conversationally.  “But believe me, my dear—they’re literally more afraid of you right now than you are of them.”  Cassandra only gave a small snort of sarcasm in response.  Jenkins ignored it and turned to face her.

“Listen to me, Cassandra:  Roger and I have known each other for many years now.  He trusts me.  He knows that I would never knowingly bring danger to the herd or harm them in any way.  If he thought you were a _true_ threat to the herd, he would’ve sounded the alarm and the entire lot would’ve disappeared in the blink of an eye.”  He took her hands into his.

“The fact that Roger and these others are still here means that they’re willing to give you a second chance, my dear, despite their own fears,” he informed her.  “They’re willing to make amends, if you are.”

As the immortal finished speaking, there was a commotion coming from the forest where the other unicorns were fretfully waiting to follow Roger’s lead.  The two humans looked over in time to see a much smaller, immature unicorn burst out from the cover of the forest and into the clearing, galloping wildly toward them, making a half-barking, half-bleating sound as it ran.  A large smile blossomed on Jenkins’s face at the sight of the young orphan he had brought here several months ago to turn over to a foster mother.  Jenkins had purposely stayed away since then in order to facilitate the bonding process between the youngster and his new herd.

The baby unicorn had grown considerably since that time, and in his excitement at being reunited with the Caretaker, he knocked Jenkins over onto the ground in his eagerness to greet the man with licks, nuzzles and head-butts.  Cassandra couldn’t help but to burst into laughter as the sprawled-out Jenkins tried to get back to his feet amidst the boisterous display of affection from the unicorn.

Finally, Jenkins was able to at least get onto his knees, the youngster bounding happily around him and barking-bleating.  Cassandra noticed that the other unicorns had inched out of the forest a few feet, and she recognized the golden-colored female that had adopted the little orphan; perhaps the fact that the young unicorn was unafraid of her and Jenkins reassured the adults that they posed no threat.

“ _There’s_ my happy little fellow!” said Jenkins warmly, his voice full of affection as he stroked and patted the exuberant animal.  “Did you miss your poor old Jenkins these last few months?”  As if in response to his question the little unicorn recommenced licking the man’s face with so much enthusiasm that he nearly french-kissed the Caretaker.  The Librarian laughed again as Jenkins, spluttering and frantically wiping his mouth, stumbled to his feet while the unicorn gamboled around them.  Jenkins cast her a dour look.

“So, you think that’s funny, do you?” he groused, secretly pleased that she was at least more relaxed now.  “We’ll see how funny you think it is when it happens to you someday!”  He turned and called the baby to himself again.  After he managed to calm the unicorn down a bit, he began to examine the creature, carefully feeling all of his limbs and body, checking his eyes and teeth, inspecting the hooves.  Cassandra went to stand next to them so that she could see more clearly what Jenkins was doing.

“Have you named him yet?” she asked.  Jenkins wagged his head from side to side.

“Not yet,” he answered.  “I was thinking of naming him ‘Oscar’, or perhaps ‘Charles’.  What do you think?”  Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“When will he have a horn?” she asked, changing the subject.

“He’s still far too young for a horn,” the Caretaker answered as he struggled to get a good look into the rambunctious youngster’s ears.  “That won’t come until he’s reached sexual maturity, around the age of forty or fifty years.  He’ll need it, then, to compete for females.”  He stood up and began to inspect the animal’s mane and tail.

“Of course, he won’t actually be a viable contender for females until he’s much older, say one hundred years.  Until then he’ll only be sparring with other males and learning what he needs to know and do in order to win a mate when the time comes.”  He reached out both hands to grasp the unicorn’s head between them and then briefly looked him in the eyes before laying his forehead against the animal’s forehead.

“And by the time that day comes, he will be a _magnificent_ beast!  He’ll have no trouble finding a good mate and siring many equally-magnificent offspring,” he said quietly, almost to himself.  Puzzled, the Librarian laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“You sound almost sad,” she said.  Jenkins smiled as he released the young unicorn and brushed off his hands and clothes.

“I suppose I am, just a little,” he replied as he watched the youngster trot back to his adoptive mother, named Martha.  “The orphaned animals that I’ve had to take care of over the years for the Library are the closest things to children that I’ve ever had.  I understand that most parents are at least a little sad when their young ones grow up and leave home, begin raising their own families.”  A melancholy look came to the immortal’s dark eyes as he continued to watch the unicorns.

“I try to reintroduce the orphans back to their own kind when they’re strong enough; it’s better for them, really—to live out their lives in the wild as they were meant to do.  Or, as much so as is possible when they’re confined to the Library.  Oftentimes that means that the little ones, once I’ve released them, forget me over time, forget that I took care of them when they were very young.  I suppose that’s as it should be, but still...”  Cassandra slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“At least you have me, now,” she said, attempting to comfort him.  “You’re _my_ magnificent beast, and I could _never_ forget you, sweetheart.”  She tilted her head so that she could look at him, her blue eyes shining with mischief.  “You, _or_ your ‘horn’!”  Jenkins raised his head slightly and laughed at the double-entendre.  He turned and wrapped her in his arms, giving her a tight hug and then a tender kiss before touching his forehead to hers, just as he had done with the young unicorn.

“Indeed I do have you, my love,” he murmured affectionately.  “And I thank the gods every day that out of all of Space and Time we two were able to find each other!”  He kissed her forehead as she smiled at his sweet words, then he stood back from her.

“Now, I must confess, this isn’t the only reason I wanted you to come with me to the Unicorn Forest again,” he said, a mischievous glint suddenly sparking in his eyes.  “I have a little surprise for you, my dear, if you’re up to it?” Cassandra was instantly curious.

“What surprise?” she asked eagerly.  Jenkins raised his head as he peered down at her.

“Close your eyes, and I’ll lead you to it,” he instructed.  Cassandra protested, but the immortal stubbornly refused to relent.  Finally, the Librarian closed her eyes tightly with a huff of frustration.  Jenkins put his arm around her and carefully guided her along the snow-covered ground for what seemed like an eternity, refusing even to answer any of her questions along the way.  Eventually Cassandra thought she could hear the musical sound of tiny bells.  The suspense was killing her by the time Jenkins brought her to halt.

“All right, my dear, we’re here now. Open your eyes,” he said softly.  She blinked her eyes open, and her jaw dropped in amazement at the sight that greeted her:  An old snow sleigh, right out of a Currier and Ives engraving, festooned with garlands of holly and lighted lanterns, was hitched to a matched pair of coal-black unicorns, their harnesses tinkling quietly as they waited impatiently for the pair and occasionally pawed the frozen ground.  Cassandra turned to look up at her husband, who was looking very pleased with himself.

“Jenkins!” she gasped, her hands going to either side of her face as she stared back at the sleigh.  “What _is_ this?”

“It’s a sleigh, obviously,” he said grandly.  “I thought you might enjoy going on a genuine, old-fashioned sleigh ride.”  As the shock wore off, Cassandra began to squeal with excitement, fairly skipping through the snow as she suddenly rushed toward the sleigh.  Jenkins hurried after her and caught her.

“ _Calmly_ , my dear!” he cautioned.  “These are unicorns, remember—somewhat skittish still, even if they are harness-broken!”  The Librarian immediately became still, though even through her heavy coat Jenkins could still feel her body tense with barely-restrained exuberance.

“Omigod, do they have names!?” she asked breathlessly.  Jenkins nodded.

“Stanley and Oliver,” he answered.  “They’re twins.  Very rare among unicorns!”  Cassandra looked askance at him.

“As in, _Stanley_ Laurel and _Oliver_ Hardy?” she said incredulously.  “You named _unicorns_ after Laurel and Hardy?!”  Jenkins looked nonplussed.

“What’s wrong with that?  Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy were comedic geniuses,” he replied.  Cassandra rolled her eyes again.

“Never mind!” she said.  “Let’s focus on the sleigh ride!”

The Caretaker walked her to the sleigh and helped her into it, then climbed in to sit next to her.  He spread a heavy, thick quilt over their lower bodies to help keep them warm during the ride.  Cassandra noticed a wicker basket on the floor of the sleigh and asked what was inside.

“Some hot chocolate and Christmas cake,” he replied, taking up the reins.  Cassandra clapped her hands, squeaking with glee as he snapped the reins and sent the unicorns into a gentle trot at first.  As they warmed up, he urged them gradually into a faster pace, the bells on their harnesses jingling merrily as the powerful animals effortlessly pulled the sleigh through the snow.  The moon was clearing the horizon now, casting a gentle blueish light over everything, making the snow glow and glitter in its pale radiance.  The cold wind in her face, the man she loved more than anything else in the world next to her, the beautiful scenery of romantic, moonlit snowy forest and fields that they passed all combined to make Cassandra so happy that she wanted to cry.  She snuggled up against Jenkins and pulled the quilt up a little higher against the wonderful chill.

“Jenkins, sing something for me?” she asked.  “One of those old love songs that knights used to sing to their lady loves?”  She closed her eyes and laid head on his arm as he gladly obliged her.  Unexpectedly, he began to sing lustily in English, the tune stately yet light, perfect for a sleigh ride.

O Beautiful one who holds my life

Captive in your eyes,

Who has ravished my soul

With a gracious smile.

Come to my aid

Or I must die.

 

Why do you flee, dainty one,

If I am near you?

When I behold your eyes

I am lost inside myself

Because your perfection

so affects my conduct.

 

Your beauty and your grace

And your divine ways

Have melted the ice

Which was freezing my bones,

And have filled my heart

With a loving ardor.

 

My soul wanted to be

Free of passion,

But love became the master

Of my affections

And put under its law

My heart and my faith.

 

Come near, my lovely one,

Come near, my dear one,

Do not resist me further

For my heart is yours,

To relieve my ills

Give me a kiss!

 

I die, my Little Angel,

I die when kissing

Your mouth so sweet.

My very lovely one,

With that touch my spirits

Are completely lifted in love.

 

Sooner will waves

Flow backwards

And sooner will the moon

Cease to shine

Before the love which conquered me

Wanes a single jot!

 

“Jenkins, this is all so… _wonderful_!” she said as the song finished, though the word ‘wonderful’ didn’t begin to cover her feelings at the moment.  “How did you ever come up with the idea for this?”  Her husband gently reined the unicorns to a halt to give them a rest, then turned to face his wife.

“I’ve been studying those godawful Hallmark Channel movies you’ve been making me watch with you,” he said playfully as he made an exaggerated frown of disgust.  “And it suddenly occurred to me that I have the means and abilities to ‘out-fluff’ _all_ of those saccharine bits of fluff, in spades!”  He waved a hand to take in their surroundings.

“How many of your ‘Hallmark heroines’ will ever find themselves living in a magic Library, married to a knight of the Round Table, and going for moonlight Christmas rides in a sleigh pulled by _unicorns_ , hmm?” he demanded imperiously.  Cassandra laughed with delight.  Jenkins smiled and took the opportunity to reach into his coat pocket, quickly pulling out a small box.  He held it out to his wife, and for a moment she simply blinked at it in surprise.

“I know it’s a bit early, but...it’s a Christmas present,” he murmured shyly.  Cassandra slowly took the box and opened it.  She gasped as her eyes fell on its contents, a gold ring set with a large round-cut diamond in the center, surrounded by smaller rubies, sapphires and citrines, everything fashioned to look like an open flower.  The jewel sparkled in the lantern-light.  She looked up at her husband, stunned.

“Oh, Jenkins!  It’s _beautiful_!” she breathed, then dropped her eyes to the ring again.  Before she could say anything more, he took the ring from the box, then tugged the glove off of her left hand.  He slipped it onto her ring-finger, coming to rest just about her Sealing ring.

“I know I’ve put the cart before the horse a bit,” he said, taking her hand between his.  “It’s an engagement ring.  Things happened so quickly earlier this year, I didn’t even think of it until just a few months ago.  The gems come from one of the smaller pieces from the Crown Jewels of Sarras, and I had the ring made from them.  I wanted you to not only have an engagement ring, but I wanted you to have something to remind you that you are a queen—a true queen, in every sense of the word.  Not least of which that you are and always will be the Queen of my heart.”  He raised one hand to touch her cold cheek as he looked into her watering blue eyes.

“Oh, Jenkins, you didn’t have to do this!  I didn’t need an engagement ring, I didn’t even think of it...”  He placed his finger against her lips.

“Yes, you did,” he said softly.  “I love you, Cassandra, so very much, and I will take every opportunity to demonstrate that to you that I can!  I will always love you— _always_.”  Two tears slipped from the Librarian’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  Jenkins brushed them away with a finger.  He suddenly slid both hands into her silky red hair and bent to kiss her, the faint taste of peppermint on her tongue.  As they parted, each slid their arms around the other, each held the other close, each basking in the love of the other.  After several minutes, Cassandra gently backed away and looked up into her husband’s handsome face.

“Jenkins!” she said, her eyes sparkling like crystals in the dim light.  “What’s the Welsh word for ‘Christmas’?”  The immortal’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“It’s ‘Nadolig’,” he answered.  “Why?”  A huge grin spread across the Librarian’s face.

“That’s perfect!” she said giddily, and grasped his hand.  “Oh, Jenkins, let’s name the baby unicorn Nadolig!  It’s a beautiful name, and it’ll always remind us of tonight!  _Please_?”  She stared up at him with pleading eyes that he was powerless against.

“Very well,” he said, smiling indulgently.  “If it pleases you, my love, then Nadolig it is!”  Cassandra gave a little shriek of joy and threw her arms around his neck.  The sudden sharp sound startled the waiting unicorns, and they took several nervous steps forward, jerking the sleigh into motion.  Jenkins instantly grabbed the reins and pulled them to a halt, calling out to the jittery beasts soothingly until they had calmed down again.  Still holding onto the reins, he turned to address his wife.

“I think we’d better start heading back now; why don’t you break into that basket and pour us some of that hot chocolate?” he said.  “And bring out some of that delightful Christmas cake as well?  I can hold the mug and the reins at the same time, but I’m afraid you’ll have to feed the cake to me.”

“Of course!” Cassandra exclaimed happily as she dug into the basket of treats.  She froze suddenly, then turned, stretched her head up and kissed his cheek.  Jenkins turned his head and caught her lips in another soft, lingering kiss, while a tingling warmth spread throughout his body.

“I love you, Galahad,” she said, her small hand brushing through the hair at his temple.  Jenkins smiled at her in response, then turned and lightly slapped the reins across the unicorns’ backs, and turned them back to the entrance of the Unicorn Forest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Jenkins sang is called "Belle Qui Tiens Ma Vie", which was on a Christmas music cd someone gave me this year, even though it's a troubadour love song and has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas! You can hear an acapella version in the original French here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITQQsn-7954


	13. The Tea Dragon's Christmas Tale

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of excitement in the Portland Annex of the Library, and Franklin the tea dragon had been absorbing every wonderful moment.

It had all begun with a huge feast, just before the snows came.  Chá Huā and Xiàng Rì Kuí (his tea dragon names for Cassandra and Eve, respectively) had prepared the feast, which featured some kind of large roasted bird, accompanied by many dishes of vegetables, breads and sweets.  Everyone had eaten, laughed, sang and celebrated for many hours before the feast finally ended.  Franklin figured it was some sort of autumn celebration; his kind celebrated a similar festival when the autumn moon was full—though not with so much food!  The little dragon knew it was special occasion, because Bái Shān, as he called Jenkins, actually allowed Franklin to sit in his lap at the table and slipped tidbits from his own plate to Franklin, something that Bái Shān was normally very strict about. 

After the feast, everyone gathered in the Library’s theater and watched tiny men chasing a ball on the large, flat magic mirror all afternoon, the Librarians and their Guardian hollering and cheering loudly whenever one of the small men carried the ball to the end of a field.  Franklin didn’t understand any of it, and after a short time he grew bored and went to find Bái Shān.  He apparently didn’t care to watch the tiny men, either, and had gone to his and Chá Huā’s nest for a nap instead.  The door had been left open, and so Franklin went inside, and when he saw Bái Shān dozing, the tea dragon couldn’t resist jumping up into the bed and happily curling up with the beloved old man for the rest of the afternoon.

The excitement continued the very next day, as things around the normally quiet Annex became frenetic with energy and activity.  Chá Huā made Bái Shān carry out box after box of shiny, brightly colored decorations and strings upon strings of bright, shining lights in all different colors—some of which even blinked on and off, just like the stars in the sky at night.  Chá Huā spent days putting up the decorations and beautiful lights, playing festive music and dancing or singing as she did so.  She even coaxed Bái Shān into dancing with her one day, something Franklin had never seen before and he was absolutely delighted by it.

Franklin sensed that whatever festival it was that they were getting ready to celebrate, it must be a very important one.  But just when he thought things couldn’t get any more dazzling or amazing, he was proven wrong on the day that Xĭ Qué, Fēng and Lao Hŭ—meaning Magpie, Wind and Tiger, his names for Flynn, Ezekiel and Jake—came through the glowing doors, dragging an _enormous_ pine tree behind them, a tree that dwarfed even Bái Shān.  The little dragon squealed and ran around the workroom in a frenzy of excitement when he saw them.  Why had they brought the tree into Bái Shān’s magic house?  What were they going to do with it?

He found out soon enough.  After Chá Huā saw the tree and squealed almost as loudly as Franklin had, she made the men go and fetch even _more_ boxes of decorations and lights.  They all then proceeded to actually put the decorations onto the tree itself!  Shining strings of gold and silver; glass balls of many different colors; strings of red berries and popcorn all strung together (that didn’t taste very good at all, he learned); little pieces of red and white striped sugar shaped like hooks (those tasted _very_ good, indeed!).  They even hid tiny boxes wrapped with colorful paper and ribbons among the branches of the pine tree.  Franklin wore himself out with racing around and taking in all the sights, playing with the decorations, tasting the various items and playing in the empty boxes. 

As if this all wasn’t enough, the best was yet to come.  As soon as all of the decorations were on the tree, Chá Huā turned off all of the lights in the room.  Knowing that something wonderful was about to happen, the little reptile fidgeted anxiously as he waited to see what it could possibly be.  Then, at a word from Bái Shān, Lao Hŭ flipped a switch, and Franklin was frozen with disbelief.

The tall tree suddenly blazed to life with lights, their glow reflected in the shiny surfaces of the colored glass balls.  At the very top of the tree, a huge golden star was shining, just like the North Star.  It was the most beautiful thing the little tea dragon had ever seen, and all he could do for several minutes was stare at it with wide black eyes, a faint whine of amazement sounding in his throat. 

Everyone noticed Franklin’s reaction, and watched quietly as he slowly inched his way forward to the tree.  When he was close enough, he stretched out a careful paw and ever so lightly touched one of the shining glass balls.  He saw his distorted reflection in its surface and recognized the comical-looking creature as himself.  He was so tickled by his appearance that hopped up and down and half hooted-half barked with what passed for tea dragon laughter.  Then, before anyone could stop him, he screamed with glee, raced beneath the tree’s drooping branches and scampered up the trunk, his sharp claws making the climb almost effortless.  Caught off-guard, Bái Shān, Chá Huā and the others then spent the next two hours trying to coax the mischievous dragon out of the tree before he could tip it over or discovered that he could remove and throw any of the decorations from off of the tree.

 

* * *

 

The days continued to be filled with activity.  Besides the usual business of the Library, everyone kept carrying in bags of items, all sorts of things—clothes, books, electrical gadgets, knickknacks, perfumes, food, streamers, banners, and things that he couldn’t even begin to identify.  Everyone at some point took some of the items and wrapped them up in colorful paper and tied them with ribbons and bows.  These were then placed beneath the pine tree, and over the coming days everyone took turns picking up one or another of the packages, holding it up and gently shaking it before replacing it beneath the tree. 

Franklin was perplexed by the odd behavior, until one day it finally came to him:  The tree must represent a local god or goddess that he wasn’t familiar with, and the packages were offerings to that deity!  Naturally, having been brought up properly by his family in China, he wanted to be polite and offer the tree a gift, too; for all the tea dragon knew, it may have been this very tree-god who had safely brought Franklin to this magic house and his new family in the first place.  It would be _unforgivably_ rude not to thank the tree-god properly!

Franklin scampered off to the box where Bái Shān kept all of his toys.  He removed each and every one, examining them carefully to see if any of them would make a suitable gift, but they were all so badly mauled and chewed up that none of could be even remotely deemed fit enough for a god. 

He then went to his nest to think about the situation.  He tried to discuss his predicament with Chac, his pre-Columbian artifact roommate, but the ever-silent statue wasn’t any help at all.  Franklin began to dig through his meager belongings to see what he had that he could offer to the tree-god.  His eyes fell immediately onto the perfect gift:   A beautiful bow tie made of amethyst-colored silk and dotted all over with tiny gold diamonds.  It used to belong to Bái Shān; Franklin found it one day in the Annex workroom on the patriarch’s desk, and thinking that it had been discarded, Franklin quickly grabbed it and carried it off to his nest.  It was the little dragon’s most prized possession, because it reminded him of Bái Shān and of all of the love and kindness he had shown to Franklin from the very first day they met.  Such a beautiful piece of silk would surely be an acceptable gift to the tree-god, though it made Franklin a little sad to part with something that had once belonged to his beloved Bái Shān.  Still, he had been taught since the time he was a hatchling that one always gave one’s best to the gods.

Franklin took the tie between his teeth and carefully carried it to the workroom.  It was now very late in the evening and the others weren’t around, so he had the workroom to himself.  He carried the tie to Chá Huā’s desk, where all of the colorful paper and ribbon was being kept.  He paused for a moment, trying to remember how he had seen the others prepare their gifts.  He then seized a roll of wrapping paper in his tiny claws and began tearing a huge, ragged chunk of paper from it. 

He laid the paper on the floor, then carefully placed the tie on top of it.  He tried to fold the paper over the garment, just as he had seen the others do, but for some reason it wouldn’t stay folded, the paper kept lying flat again.  He was about to lose his temper, but then he remembered the sticky strips—everyone had used sticky strips to make _their_ paper stay folded!

The dragon ran back to the desk and found the thing that was holding the spool of sticky strips.  He pulled it down onto the floor and, after several frustrating attempts, was finally able to pull the sticky strip loose from the spool.  He dragged the continuous strand of the tacky substance over to his gift, and while his had the sticky strip clamped between his teeth, he quickly folded the paper over the tie with his paws.  He was then able to place the sticky strip over the uneven seams of the wrapping paper, finally making the edges stay in place with a firm slap of his paw. 

Franklin threw his head back and yipped proudly at his accomplishment.  He looked his gift over and decided that it needed a little more of the sticky strip on it, just make sure the paper stayed in place.  So he pulled more of the strip from the roll, slapping it onto the paper to make sure it stuck.  Unfortunately, he slapped the sticky side of the strip, and it stuck to his paw.  He then tried to un-stick it from his paw, and the more he fought it, the more entangled in the sticky strip he became.  The fine, silken hairs that tufted at the end of his tail then became caught in the adhesive side of the stuff, then his rear legs.  It seemed like the more he struggled, the more tangled up in it he became.  Franklin began to be afraid and started shrieking with panic, leaping and thrashing about as he tried to free himself of the treacherous stuff.

Finally, to his immense relief, he was able to disentangle himself, though he had small pieces of sticky strip tangled in his tail and stuck to his body.  He scurried over to his gift to make sure it had remained undamaged in the struggle.  It was somewhat worse for wear, but not _too_ much.  He hoped the tree-god would understand.  Franklin was about to take the package over to the tree, but then realized that it didn’t have a shiny ribbon on it like the others had put on their offerings.  He looked around and spied a spool of shiny gold-colored ribbon on top of Chá Huā’s desk.  He quickly climbed up and grabbed the spool, then hurried back to the floor.  He wound the ribbon around his gift, but then realized he didn’t know how to make a fluffy bow of it like some of the others had done.  He thought for a moment as he looked around.  There was a small piece of sticky strip still caught in his tail tuft, and he decided that would have to do.  Franklin carefully pulled the piece of sticky strip from his tail and then quickly used it to stick the gold ribbon, untied, onto the package.  He then chewed the ribbon free of the spool.

The little dragon stood back to admire his work.  By human standards, it was a sorry-looking gift, looking as though a small child had wadded a torn piece of gift wrapping paper around the tie and then haphazardly taped a chewed-up piece of ribbon to it.  But by tea dragon standards, it was beautiful, a more than fitting gift for a tree-god!  Gurgling with satisfaction, Franklin picked up the gift in his jaws and proudly trotted it over to the glittering tree-god.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra poked her head around the doorframe of Jenkins’s study.

“Are you coming to bed soon, sweetie?” she asked.  “It’s Christmas Eve, you know; Santa won’t leave you any presents if you’re still awake when he gets here, you know!”  Jenkins closed the book he’d been reading and set it aside on the sofa where he was sitting.  He stood and stretched his long arms behind him, yawning at the same time.

“Yes, soon,” he answered her.  He walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead.  “I think I’d like to have a cup of tea first, though.  May I bring you anything from the kitchen?”  The Librarian shook her head.

“Nope, I’m good,” she said, then pouted.  “But hurry back, okay?  It’s almost midnight, and I’ve been waiting _all day_ to cuddle up with my great big handsome teddy-bear knight!”  Jenkins chuckled at the mushy sentiment, but secretly he was very pleased that his pretty young wife would so look forward to cuddling with him.  He bent to kiss her again.

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a reindeer’s tail!” he assured her, then hurried off to the kitchen for his tea.

As the Caretaker drew closer to the workroom, his ears caught the sound of a strange, somewhat high-pitched, sing-song whining coming from the large space.  Thinking that an intruder had somehow broken into the Annex again, he slowed his step and quietly approached the workroom from the corridor.  When he reached the doorway, he peered slowly around the corner to see if he could spot the source of the sound, and he was astonished to see only Franklin, in front of the large Christmas tree, its lights left on for Christmas Eve. 

Jenkins watched, puzzled, as the little tea dragon sat up on his haunches, then dropped onto his forepaws, then lowered his head three times all the way to floor.  He repeated this process two more times, all the while producing the strange song-like sound and chattering softly to himself.  The bowing action was vaguely familiar to the immortal, and he had to think for a few minutes before he remembered:  Franklin was kow-towing, a very formal form of showing respect and honor that was common in pre-revolutionary China.  But who or what on earth was the tea dragon kow-towing to?  Jenkins carefully craned his neck past the doorframe in an effort to try and see what it could be. 

But all the Caretaker could see was Franklin, the tree…and a small, ratty-looking package on the floor in front of the little kow-towing dragon.  Jenkins cocked his head, aware now that he had stumbled on something unusual, but not quite knowing what it was.  He kept silent and merely watched.

When Franklin was finished bowing to the tree, he gently pushed the raggedy package—which Jenkins realized was “wrapped” with Christmas paper—toward the tree.  Franklin then repeated the bowing ritual again, still chattering and singing.  When the bowing was done, the tea dragon gave a sharp, joyous-sounding yelp, then scurried off up the spiral staircase toward the mezzanine and disappeared.

Jenkins waited a few moments to make sure Franklin wasn’t going to return, then stepped into the workroom and headed straight for the Christmas tree.  He stooped to pick up Franklin’s “gift”, lifted a loose flap of paper and peeked inside.  He recognized the tie inside as the one that he’d misplaced weeks ago and had been looking for ever since.  Franklin obviously had found it someplace and carried it off to who knew where for who knew what reason—but why did the dragon try to wrap it up and put it beneath the Christmas tree? 

The immortal stood, his arms crossed and brows knit together, and pondered the questions for a long time.  He studied the Christmas tree and then the package in his hand, trying to find the link between them.  All of the other gifts under the tree were for specific people; presumably, Franklin, intelligent little beast that he was, had been watching everyone over the last few weeks and had gotten the idea to contribute a gift of his own.  But who was it for?  And the kowtowing, what was _that_ all about? 

Jenkins carried the gift over to his desk and sat down, still trying to puzzle things out.  He looked over at the Christmas tree again, replayed in his mind the scene he had just witnessed.  The last time the immortal had seen anyone perform the kowtowing ritual was well over a hundred years ago, in China, when Jenkins himself had been presented to the Daoguang Emperor.  The immortal mused for a moment on all of the rulers he had known through the centuries, how most of them had been regarded as semi- or fully-divine beings by their subjects—and suddenly everything fell into place.  Franklin had been offering his gift to the tree itself!  To the little Eastern dragon who had never seen a Christmas tree before, he must’ve mistaken it for some sort of deity, and the presents he had seen everyone placing beneath the tree had been mistaken for offerings to said deity.  And Franklin had wanted to make an “offering” as well, had selected Jenkins’s pilfered tie as the most best gift he could offer.

Jenkins was momentarily stunned by the realization, not by Franklin’s wanting to offer a gift to something he thought was a god, but by the knowledge that his little reptilian companion had valued something of _Jenkins’s_ so much that Franklin thought it the only thing worthy to offer to a god.  It meant that Franklin valued Jenkins very highly, and that touched the old Caretaker’s heart very deeply.  He felt a lump in his throat form as he contemplated that thought. 

A wonderful idea came to Jenkins.  He stood up and took the tattered little gift with him as he hurried back to the bedroom, mentally going through Cassandra’s inventory of Christmas decor items as he went.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later Jenkins and Cassandra were crouched behind the Caretaker’s desk in the darkened workroom.  When he told his wife about Franklin and his gift to the tree, and of his plan to make Franklin’s very first Christmas one that the little reptile would never forget, the tender-hearted Librarian had almost burst into tears. 

It was almost three o’clock in the morning now, and Jenkins had just solidly struck the ancient Chinese temple bell three times before dashing over to duck behind his desk with his wife.  He checked again to make sure that the gift was in position, then settled back anxiously to wait.  The immortal suspected that Franklin’s nest was somewhere around the mezzanine area, but he wasn’t sure where, exactly.  Wherever the dragon was, he hoped Franklin could hear the temple bell.  After a few minutes, however, he was relieved to hear the tell-tale skittering of tiny claws.

Franklin ran down the staircase and skidded to a stop on the wooden floor.  He looked around, eyes wide, for the source of the bell that had awoken him.  As he scanned the room, his eyes fell on a strange object that hadn’t been here before, right on the spot where he had left his offering to the tree-god just a few hours ago.  Only it wasn’t his gift now. 

The tea dragon was astonished to see, not _his_ gift, but rather a miniature pine tree about twelve inches stall, colorfully decorated just like the giant one that was standing in front of him this very minute.  The only difference was that this small tree was now had Bái Shān’s bow tie, the very same one Franklin had given to the tree-god, neatly tied around it’s top half!  As he made a low ‘moo-ing’ sound of wonder, the little dragon cautiously approached the tiny tree and stretched a tentative paw out to touch it.  As soon as he did, the tree lit up with tiny little lights that blinked merrily.  Franklin squawked in alarm and jumped backward as the tree began to wiggle back and forth in a simple dance, while the lively strains of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” played.  After a few seconds, the music stopped, the tree became still, and the lights went out.

Franklin sat and stared in shock at the tree for several minutes, not even daring to blink.  He slowly reached out again to touch it, and it again sprang to life, singing and dancing as the dragon quickly snatched his paw away.  Behind Jenkins’s desk, Cassandra covered her mouth with both hands to keep from bursting into laughter as she and the Caretaker watched everything.

The small dragon pondered what all of this could possibly mean, and came up with only one logical conclusion:  The tree-god had not only accepted Franklin’s humble gift, but had given Franklin one in return, this miniature replica of itself wearing Bái Shān’s tie, that miraculously danced and sang with happiness in greeting whenever the tea dragon approached it.  And it was just the right size for Franklin’s nest, which had to mean that he was meant to keep it there as a reminder that he was now also under the protection of the tree-god that guarded Bái Shān and everyone else who lived in the patriarch’s magical house and kept them safe!

Franklin was ecstatic, and began to leap and jump about as he shrieked piercingly with happiness.  His long tail accidentally brushed the small tree, and it began to dance and sing again, its lights blinking cheerily along with the tinny-sounding music.  The dragon was absolutely beside himself with joy as the tree-god danced with him.  He had to show his gift to his friend, Chac, and share with him the good news right away!  Franklin carefully took the wriggling, singing tree between his jaws and then took off as fast as he could go up the stairs, disappearing into the mezzanine stacks, the tree’s music fading gradually away into silence.

As soon as they thought it was safe to come out of hiding, the Librarian and the Caretaker stood up stiffly from behind the desk.  Cassandra immediately gave in to her pent-up laughter, and even Jenkins couldn’t help grinning in amusement at what they had just witnessed.

“Oh my God, Jenkins!” she exclaimed.  “I think that was _the_ cutest thing I have _ever_ seen!”

“Yes, I think your gift idea was rather will-received, my dear!” he chuckled, walking out from behind his desk and gazing up into the mezzanine area of the Annex.  “And the best part is that tomorrow, all I have to do is follow the sound of that music and I’ll finally know where Franklin has set up his nest.”  Cassandra came out to stand next to her husband, linking her arm around his as she looked up at him.

“Do you think the batteries will last that long?” she asked, giving his arm a squeeze.  Jenkins smiled and nodded his head.

“Oh, yes; I used a little enhancement spell to lengthen their life a bit,” he said, unconcerned.  “They’ll eventually drain completely in a few days’ time, but by then I’ll have him located, I hope!”

“You really think that _he_ thinks the Christmas tree is a god of some kind?” she asked, still incredulous.  Jenkins nodded and smiled down at her.

“Based on what I saw earlier this evening, I’m almost one hundred percent certain,” he replied. 

“But a _Christmas_ tree?  A _god_?”

“He’s a very intelligent creature, my dear,” the immortal said thoughtfully.  “But you have to keep in mind that he can only interpret his current surroundings and experiences through the lens of his _previous_ surroundings and life experiences, as is true with all of _us_.  He’s a magical being from a land of great antiquity, filled with magic, so he naturally expects magic wherever he goes.  It’s not that great of a stretch for him to see something like a Christmas tree as some sort of magical being, especially when he sees us decorating it and seeming to give it presents!”  Jenkins draped his long arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a hug.  A nearby clock softly chimed  half-past three.

“I think we’d better get some sleep, my dear,” he said.  “Everyone will be arriving in a few hours to open presents and begin feasting!”  He leaned over and kissed her head.

“Merry Christmas, my love!”  Cassandra smiled and leaned against the tall Caretaker as they began slowly walking back to their bedroom.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” she echoed, yawning sleepily.

 

* * *

 

Later in the morning, everyone else arrived for the Annex’s Christmas celebrations.  Franklin was there, also, even _more_ hyper and excited than usual as the day’s events unfolded.  Presents were eagerly exchanged and unwrapped (Cassandra gave Jenkins a set of gold cufflinks that she had specially made to look like blossoms from their Tree of Love); a veritable medieval banquet of food and drink was shared (Eve, Cassandra and Jake did most of the cooking, so everyone else pitched in on cleanup afterwards so that the three of them could finally relax for a while); stories and memories of the past year were told and relived (except for those pertaining to “The Alternate Timeline That Must Never Be Mentioned Again”). 

Late in the afternoon, everyone piled a plate high with leftovers and headed for the theater to watch the Christmas Eve football game between the Oakland Raiders and the Denver Broncos; knowing that they were all going to be too busy to watch it on television, Jake had recorded it.  As they watched the game, Flynn, Jake and Eve got into an argument about one of the more obscure NFL rules regarding gameplay.  Everyone had left their phones upstairs—except Ezekiel, of course, but he was now sleeping off his Christmas dinner and no one had the heart to disturb him.  So Flynn jumped up and dashed off to the Annex to look the answer up in a book.  After several minutes he finally returned, a perplexed, slightly concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong, Flynn?” asked Eve.  Flynn looked around at the others.

“I’m...not sure,” he said slowly, cocking his head as tough listening for something.  “I don’t hear anything now, but all the time I was in the stacks looking for this book, I could’ve _sworn_ I kept hearing ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ playing over and over and over...”

“Ooookay, I think it’s time to cut off your eggnog supply, babe,” laughed Eve, getting up to give her bemused husband a hug and peck on his cheek.  “Sounds like you’ve had just a _liiitle_ too much Christmas cheer!”

Cassandra and Jenkins exchanged knowing looks, but remained silent, each one quickly shoving a large forkful of mincemeat pie into their mouths to keep from laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of “Christmas Fluff 2018”. Thanks for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed the fics; I’m looking forward to writing more adventures for our heroes in 2019, especially for Jenkins and Cassandra (and Franklin, too!). I wish all of my readers a very happy, prosperous and peaceful New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
